Building Fences Out of Tense Moments
by PersephonesNauticalNun
Summary: She said it again – "Quinn." She loved how the harsh Q sound contrasted with the liquidity of the rest of the syllable – short and beautiful, but with a biting edge so necessary that its absence would make her name feel like pudding.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** _Hello! If you are a follower and wondering why this isn't an update for Octahedron, know that I am sorry, and still haven't given up on that. Still don't know when I'll get back to it, though, for reasons. If you are new to my writing, you've picked a great time to join me! This is, by far, the most ambitious fic I've ever attempted, and I am both excited and terrified to share it with you._

_There are a few things to know before jumping in. I have not seen an episode of Glee since Santana came out, and I have no intention of ever doing so. Any plot lines or characters that were introduced after that point are completely foreign to me, and irrelevant to this story. That being said, while this story is largely AU, it DOES utilize particular plot points from season one to establish a characterization groundwork. In this way, you've seen a lot of this before: Quinn's pregnancy drama, abusive Fabray family, getting kicked out to live with Rachel (no, this didn't happen in the show, but it gets used a lot in fic – for good reason, because plot), but my endgame takes a bit of a turn. Hello, ftm!Quinn._

_Yup. That's right. I've seen ftm!Quinn done a few times, but only particularly well once, and that was a one-shot, so it lacked a lot of the development that I really would have liked to have seen. So when faced with the question, "How could someone like Quinn Fabray suffer from gender dysphoria?" this fic is my response. It does, however, feel like multiple fics squished together into one big one, and while the first twelve chapters largely serve as groundwork, it also marks a good stopping point for any of you who are looking for some Faberry goodness without delving into the gender storm that ftm!Quinn necessarily has to be._

_I am a full-time graduate student, so don't expect updates to be regular at all. I will attempt (this being the operative word, here) to set aside time each week to write a scene, so you'll basically be looking at an update a month if I'm consistent in that (I totally won't be), which means we'll be pushing along on this for about two years._

Cheers!

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 01**

"Quinn."

She tried the name out on her tongue, as she had countless times in the previous months – enjoyed the way it seemed to fill her mouth. She said it again – "Quinn." She loved how the harsh Q sound contrasted with the liquidity of the rest of the syllable – short and beautiful, but with a biting edge so necessary that its absence would make her name feel like pudding.

It was exactly the kind of name that the someone she was going to be would have.

She took time to rehearse the arched eyebrow and steely gaze (both singularly and in combination) that she knew she'd need in the process of proving herself. It was second nature by now – her eyebrow rose delicately, sharpening the complementary angle to her cheekbones, and she tilted her chin up just enough to look haughty. The eyebrow came back down and the corner of her mouth pulled back in a smirk that was both disarming and mysterious with an ease that only comes from rigorous practice, and she nodded confidently to herself. This was her arsenal. These were her weapons in the upcoming war.

She turned to the side and placed her palm against her stomach, her hand sliding uniformly across the flat expanse of her abdomen. There were moments – instants, really – when she could see ghosts of Lucy Caboosey, but her hand on her stomach anchored her to the reality that she had managed to exile Lucy forever. Her eyes scanned her own body, taking in the way her hair fell just right at the nape of her neck when she pulled it back into a perfect ponytail, and the surprising definition she found in her arms – they'd look great in that sleeveless Cheerios uniform. Everything was perfect. She was perfect.

Except –

Except what? She took a quick mental inventory of her person – every hair was in its place, her clothes clung to and fell from all the right spots, and her make-up had been expertly applied. Nothing had been missed; she was sure of that. On the outside, she was perfectly prepared for this formality of an interview with Sue Sylvester. So why did she still think something was wrong?

"Quinn!"

It didn't matter. She didn't have time for this, not with her mother keeping her on schedule. She grabbed her car keys and slung her purse over her shoulder as she made her way downstairs.

"I know, Mom," she said as she came face to face with her mother at the bottom of the stairs, before she could inform Quinn of just how late she was running. "I'm leaving now," she explained, offering her mother a quick hug around her mimosa and kissing her on the cheek.

"Pull your shoulders back, you're not doing your breasts any favors!" she heard her mother call out before the front door closed behind her. In her haste, she must have forgotten to watch her posture, and she took just a moment to make the correction before sliding behind the wheel and heading towards her new high school.

* * *

><p>No one told her to stand at attention. No one had to. Sue Sylvester's reputation preceded her, but even that hadn't adequately prepared Quinn for how dominating her mere presence would be, especially in such confined quarters as her office. She set her jaw and attempted to turn to marble almost on impulse as Coach Sylvester's eyes took stock of what her body could offer the team.<p>

"I usually don't consider newcomers so close to the school year," Coach Sylvester was saying, walking slow circles around Quinn in her appraisal. She stood in front of Quinn, studying her face and searching for something Quinn wasn't sure she'd ever understand. This wasn't the time for cowardice, though, and Quinn turned on her cold glare – sans eyebrow – on low, in a small, but respectful show of backbone.

It was just enough, because Coach Sylvester nodded slightly and turned on her heel, making her way back to the other side of her desk. "But, I'm willing to make an exception since you just moved into the district," she said, shuffling through some papers on her desk. "And because your parents have been so generous with the squad."

It took every bit of her willpower to keep her eyes from flicking over to the girl lounging in a chair next to the window. She was in her own Cheerios uniform, ponytail and all, and hadn't bothered to look up from filing her nails the entire time Quinn had been there. The last thing she wanted was for her peers to know that her family had practically bought her way onto the squad, but she didn't want to show a sign of weakness in front of Sue Sylvester, either. From her periphery, it didn't appear as though the girl in question had any reaction to that particular revelation.

"What do you think, Santana?"

The dark-haired girl in the corner finally looked up at Coach Sylvester's direct question. She tilted her head as she looked at Quinn and stood up lazily, giving off a sense of boredom that Quinn recognized as just as practiced as her own expressions, and stood in front of Quinn. "She certainly looks the part," she said, finally.

Quinn felt her eyebrow raise in defiance on its own, and she thanked her ability to fall into character when necessary, and Santana's eyes hardened just a little bit in response. "Oh, yeah. She'll definitely be fun to break," she added, shooting Quinn a knowing smirk and moving back to her chair, returning to the ever important task of nail-care.

"Congratulations, Q, that's the best compliment I've heard Santana give anybody," Coach Sylvester said, and Quinn filed the use of her initial away for later inspection. "Looks like you're on the squad." She hefted the largest binder Quinn had ever seen filled with what she assumed to be rules, regulations, and routines, and extended it to Quinn. "There are, of course, certain expectations – as well as a lifestyle clause – that you will be required to uphold if you want to stay there." Quinn maintained eye contact as she reached for it, and celebrated a personal victory when her arm didn't shake under its weight.

"Dismissed," Coach Sylvester eventually barked out, having found whatever it was she was looking for in Quinn.

* * *

><p>She couldn't relax until she was on the other side of the school.<p>

The interview had left her restless, and she couldn't imagine returning home – with all of its rules – just quite yet. So she took some time to acquaint herself with the layout of the building, and was somehow completely unshocked to discover that the auditorium, band hall, and choir room were as far away from the administrative offices, gym, and Sue Sylvester as the building would allow.

She thought she was just hearing things, but as she approached the auditorium doors, she realized that there was, in fact, someone singing just behind them – extremely well.

As slowly and as quietly as she could, she eased down the door handle and pushed, marveling that she managed to get the door open far enough to slip in without being heard. Leaning her shoulders against the brick wall next to the door and bringing her left foot up to rest against the wall by her knee, she was both surprised and impressed that such a large sound could come from such a small person.

Up on the poorly lit stage (seriously, was there just a light switch to illuminate the pit area?) stood a short, mostly unremarkable girl, wearing argyle in a way that simply had to be ironic. But as unremarkable as her person appeared, her voice was anything but. As Quinn listened to the song – not something she recognized, but sounded vaguely like musical theater – she was struck not only by how easily the girl could fill the entire hall with sound, but by the way her voice made Quinn physically lean forward when it softened to draw her in. Lost as she was in the impromptu performance, she forgot her initial attempts at stealth, and found herself clapping when the girl on stage stopped singing.

She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face as the girl jumped and placed a hand over her own heart dramatically. "Sorry," Quinn said, holding up her hands placatingly and moving towards the edge of the stage. "Didn't mean to scare you. You're really good," she offered, fighting the urge to shove her hands in pockets far too small to accommodate human hands.

The smile that flashed across the girl's face at the compliment was radiant, and she hopped off the stage and approached Quinn, extending her hand in greeting. "Thanks. I'm Rachel Berry."

"I'm Quinn Fabray," she said, shaking Rachel's hand. "You sure are bright and shiny."

Rachel's smile got even wider at that, if such a feat were possible. "Thank you," she said again, her voice shifting out of the professionalism with which she introduced herself. She moved to gather the stacks of sheet music sitting neatly on the edge of the stage, and Quinn unconsciously moved to help her. "So you're new?" Rachel asked, her eyes fixed on the pages in front of her.

"Oh, yeah," Quinn said, handing her stack of sheet music to Rachel. "I was just here to talk to Coach Sylvester about my spot on the Cheerios."

"Oh." Rachel's shoulders slumped and disappointment flashed across her face momentarily before correcting back into a careful optimism. "Congratulations, that's a really tough squad to get onto."

"Yeah, thanks, so I've heard," Quinn said, smiling despite herself. She stopped when she noticed the contemplative look on Rachel's face. "What?"

The shorter girl shook her head, apparently unaware of her own expression. "Nothing. Sorry," ducking her head in what Quinn thought of as uncalled for shyness.

Quinn cleared her throat to fill the awkward silence. "So, do you usually hang out in empty auditoriums?"

Rachel looked out across the darkened hall, the only light coming from the stage. "Actually, yeah," she said, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I mostly just wanted to check the acoustics and settle on a song for the upcoming glee auditions."

Quinn nodded, being more familiar with the musical process than she'd care to admit. "Well, I know you'll do great," she assured Rachel, gesturing towards the door. "I'm going to head out, though, my folks will be expecting me soon. But break a leg."

"Thanks!" Rachel said brightly, her beaming face never wavering. "It was nice to meet you," she called out as Quinn made it to the door.

Quinn turned around, using her shoulders to push the door open and walking backwards with surprising casual grace. "Yeah, you too." And then she was gone, making her way down the hallways in long strides, confident in her decision to transfer to a school with so much obvious talent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Early update! Consider it an advancement for when I forget to write for months on end. :) Also, I don't know how to write heteronormative courtship.

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 02**

The campus seemed smaller, somehow, in the pre-class rush of the first day when the seniors try to haze the freshmen by giving them false directions to the lockers they swear they know the location of, and Quinn was thankful that she had taken the time to familiarize herself with the school beforehand. Having a sense of position and direction made it infinitely easier to maintain her "almost approachable" demeanor in the face of the physical disorientation that comes from trying to move against a current of teenage boys.

She took a moment for a quick examination in the mirror she'd placed in her locker, pretending not to notice the two boys across the hall nudging each other and pointing in her general direction. They were both wearing letterman jackets, and she knew it was an important victory, but it somehow didn't feel as important as she knew it was.

She pulled her shoulders back and shot her reflection her best disarming smile before shutting her locker and heading confidently down the hall towards her first class. In between the shuffle of grown seniors and awkward freshmen, she caught sight of familiar argyle at the other end of the hall. She waited until Rachel noticed her, and raised her hand in a friendly wave.

And just as Rachel's eyes started to shine and she raised her hand to wave back, an elephant in a letterman jacket passed by and doused Rachel in grape slushie. She watched as Rachel's smile distorted into a surprised grimace, her face scrunching up in defense of the icy onslaught. If Quinn had been outside of herself, she would have laughed at the comical way her hand hung stiffly in the air, and her own shock crossed her face. She was not outside of herself, however, and once the realization set in that Rachel's talent didn't secure her an iota of social status and was therefore no asset to her (quite a hindrance, in reality), she jerked her hand back down to her side, performed a fluid about-face, and took a longer route to her first class.

* * *

><p>She should have stayed. She knew that. She knew that these first few days were crucial, and to show hesitation at lunch meant announcing a weakness, and she knew she really couldn't afford it. But she could feel her exterior cracking, and she couldn't risk losing her façade in the cafeteria – especially not when Santana was still testing her. It would be easier in a week or so, after she'd made a few allies on the squad and proven herself. Today, however, she needed an hour by herself to shut off and wind down.<p>

Which, she supposed, was how she found herself on the practically deserted side of the school that housed the arts. She hadn't noticed when she was there a week ago, but this wing of the building seemed darker than the rest of the school, and confining, somehow, which struck her as exactly the opposite kind of environment in which the arts could flourish.

She paused outside of the auditorium, half expecting to hear singing coming from the other side of the doors, and released a sigh of what she'd call relief when she heard nothing. She pushed open the doors with a bang and took a few long strides into the room – only to come to an awkward halt when she realized the place wasn't as empty as she thought. Up on the stage sat three students: a large black girl, a boy who was somehow prettier than she was, and a short brunette who was wearing decidedly different clothes than she had been wearing earlier that day.

"Quinn!" Rachel called with cautious optimism as she jumped off the stage and started to approach her.

Quinn planted her feet and crossed her arms defensively, taking a conscious step backward and pretending not to notice when Rachel slowed down self-consciously. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone would be in here," she said and turned away from Rachel.

"You can stay if you want," Rachel offered weakly.

Quinn half-turned back towards Rachel and focused her eyes on a spot just behind the girl's shoulder. She didn't intend to lift her chin and look down her nose, but it happened anyway. "No, that's okay. I just needed some alone time."

Quinn bit back a twinge of regret and almost managed to look pleased as Rachel physically recoiled at her tone. She recovered quickly, though, and turned her head to the side, a strange smile spreading across her face. When she looked back at Quinn, the corners of her mouth were pulled tight, and her eyes were hard. "Okay, Quinn," she said in an understanding voice that contradicted her expression.

Quinn hesitated – for just a moment – before nodding once and turning away from Rachel.

* * *

><p>This was the part she enjoyed. She could do without Coach Sylvester's shrill voice magnified by the world's most efficient megaphone or Santana's whispered taunts rattling around her skull, but she really did like the physical activity. She enjoyed the burn in her muscles as Coach Sylvester demanded yet another round of calisthenics. Laughter was going to hurt in a few hours after so many sit ups, but she was more excited about that than anything.<p>

Coach Sylvester finally dismissed them after calling them all embarrassing failures, and she dabbed a towel at the sweat at the nape of her neck as she made her way to the changing rooms. She glanced over to where the football team was practicing and made eye contact with a boy she recognized as one of the two that had been checking her out at her locker. His mohawk was a little off-putting (really, who had those?), but she supposed he was cute in a sleazy kind of way.

And then she was being shoulder checked by Santana as she pushed past her. "Aiming a little high, there, aren't you, Princess?" she hissed in her ear.

She could have shot a quip about how threatened Santana must have been feeling, but Santana shoved past her so quickly that doing so would seem out of context to onlookers, and so she bit her tongue and trudged after the other girls into the showers.

She wasn't… uncomfortable in the locker room. She might have found it more distressing a few years ago, but now she just found it awkward – as bathing with a bunch of mostly strangers tended to be. She kept mostly to herself as she pulled a fresh change of clothes out of her gym bag, her towel wrapped snuggly around her torso. She went through the business of putting on her undergarments quickly before allowing herself the luxury of noticing other people and possibly socializing. She took a look around the locker room, her gaze settling on Santana and Brittany, rough-housing with each other as they stepped out of the showers. She made a mental note of the way Santana smiled at the other cheerleader, but focused on Brittany.

She had easily identified the two as the "inseparable best friends" of the squad, but it was a union that didn't make much sense. Brittany was friendly, and nice, and sure, she was a little ditzy, but she also didn't seem capable of harming a fly. How, then, did she get so close with someone as sharp and abrasive as Santana?

"Careful, there, Fabray, your inner Ellen is showing," Santana's voice came from beside her. When had Quinn lost sight of her? She must have been staring as Brittany wiggled into her clothes.

Slipping easily into rival-bitch-mode, Quinn turned to Santana, raised both her chin and an eyebrow, and asked, with dripping innocence, "Tell me, Santana, are you afraid that I'm going to steal your boyfriend…? Or your girlfriend?"

Santana stepped dangerously close to her, and Quinn found herself backing into the wall of lockers, telling herself it was out of respect for Santana's captain position than any actual fear. "Don't go talking shit you don't understand, Q," she warned, and Quinn had never seen her so serious. She couldn't very well back down, however – not with this audience – so she turned the temperature on her gaze to sub-zero and waited.

Santana nodded slowly and said, "Yeah, that's what I thought," in a voice that was completely devoid of the vitriol it usually contained, and then stepped away, moving towards the door and motioning for Brittany to follow her.

Brittany paused in front of Quinn long enough to offer her a sympathetic smile and a "Try not to take it personally. Her bark is worse than her bite," before hopping off to join Santana.

* * *

><p>He was waiting for her outside. He was the other boy from earlier that morning, and now he was standing awkwardly in front of her and stumbling his way through an introduction.<p>

"You're Quinn Fabray, right?" he asked, and she nodded, both pleased and a little unsettled by the fact that he knew that, because on the one hand, it meant that he had asked around, but it also meant that her new presence at the school was felt, and there wasn't really a way to feel bad about that. "Oh, I'm Finn Hudson," he offered, and extended his hand in greeting.

She shook his hand and tried not to wince at how easily his engulfed hers. She hadn't realized just how tall this boy was, and standing next to him made her feel distressingly small, and she wasn't sure where it came from. Instead, however, she smiled brightly up at him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you, too," he said, turning and walking slowly with her towards the parking lot. "So where are you from?"

"Oh," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Out of state. Small town."

He nodded as though he were invested, but all that came out of his mouth was, "Cool, cool." They walked in awkward silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "Do you think you might want to go out, some time?"

She looked up at him and considered. He was obviously lacking in conversational skills, but that might make him easier to control. Plus, he was on the football team, and it didn't get much higher up the social ladder than that. He didn't make her heart patter. She wasn't even really attracted to him – everything about his face was simple and average, but he was useful. She could talk herself into the rest of it. "Yeah, I think I'd like that," she said, smiling shyly at him.

He smiled goofily, and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Excellent! How does Saturday sound?"

She laughed good naturedly at his obvious enthusiasm and nodded. "Yeah, Saturday sounds great."

He heaved a sigh of relief, and said, "Awesome. I'll pick you up at 8."

"Sure," she said, reaching for his hand and pulling a pen from her bag so that she could write her address on his arm. "That's where you'll find me."

He examined his arm with a grin and said, "Thanks! See you then."

She nodded. "Yeah," she said, and watched him practically skip away from her. She supposed there were worse prospects than a boy who couldn't hide his excitement at the thought of dating her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes / Trigger Warning: **_Let's have a conversation about consent, shall we? Since it seems there's some general misunderstandings and misinformation floating around out there. If a woman (or man, for that matter – person, let's say) is intoxicated, they cannot, by law, offer consent. With this understanding in mind, the ending of this chapter qualifies as rape. I apologize ahead of time for how it's going to be treated within the context of the narrative, as it's largely going to be seen as a non-issue. Please do not take this to mean that I, as a person, condone this type of behavior. Think of it, instead, as a silent commentary on a rape culture that teaches boys that this behavior is acceptable (I am a boy, for what it's worth, so any whiny MRA who may inadvertently stumble across this can keep your cry of misandry to yourself, thank you very much). Also, I don't view Puck as a bad guy and have no intention of making him the villain of this story. He's got a journey ahead of him, too, and all of the growth that comes along with that. I'm playing a long game, here, guys._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 03**

She was having a surprisingly good time. He had been appropriately respectful and terrified upon meeting her parents when he picked her up, but proved to be a fairly good date in a cliché high school kind of way.

He had taken her to Breadstix – supposedly the only halfway decent restaurant in Lima – where she learned that he was an only child and that his father had died when he was young, and that it was just him and his mom and he felt really weird about the idea of her dating again. He learned about her older sister that she barely saw and the regimented life that comes with being born a Fabray.

Then he took her to the movies, where she expressed her disgust at being taken to the next gore-fest – with tickets purchased under fake IDs – only to wind up on the edge of her seat and cheering as the bimbo took a camera to the eye. She would look over at Finn at every new creative death and they'd share morbid cringes of excitement, and there were definitely worse ways of spending a Saturday night.

And then he was walking her to her door, and they were still laughing about some of the absurd bloodshed they had just witnessed. "…And the way his face just went through the window like that," she enthused, grabbing his arm briefly as she doubled over in laughter.

"I know!" he said, turning to her as they reached her door, their laughter subsiding. Her face fell easily back into a shy coyness when he spoke again. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"I thought you said you didn't like horror movies," he said with a crooked grin.

She rolled her eyes and pushed him playfully in the arm. "Yeah, well, I can't make it that easy on you, can I?"

"No, I guess not," he said, shrugging noncommittally before letting his face fall into a serious apprehension.

She only had time to wrinkle her brow in confusion at his abrupt mood swing before he was kissing her. His lips were dry and tentative, and his hand was cupping her cheek but somehow seemed to cover the entire side of her face and part of her neck. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, and she was sure that she could teach herself to like it, but in that particular moment she just felt small and powerless. Her neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle just so she could reach him, and she wondered just how easy her neck would be to snap with hands like his.

She'd seen a couple of goofy grins on him, but they paled in comparison to the dazed look on his face when he pulled away, and she forced herself not to actually laugh at him. "Good night, Quinn," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading down the walk back towards his car.

She smiled and watched him walk away before entering her home, stopping abruptly when she came face to face with her parents in the foyer, a tumbler in her father's hand and a wine glass in her mother's. Before she could attempt to explain away whatever they might have just seen, her father broke into a wide grin, and said, "I like that boy – good old fashioned, all-American good fella! He's going places." He approached her and wrapped her in a rare but short hug and slapped her roughly on the shoulder. "We were starting to worry about you," he added with a smile before climbing the stairs.

Her mother was next, who just stood before her, placed a cold hand against her cheek, and studied her for a moment before nodding and saying, "Good work, Quinn."

She smiled and nodded, following her father up the stairs only after her mother had moved back towards the kitchen. She closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it.

"Right. Good work, Quinn," she said to herself.

* * *

><p>And so the weeks went on. Santana's constant testing of her had simmered into a begrudging acceptance bordering on respect, and Finn continued to take her out on dates until she was suddenly identified as his girlfriend. Which was weird, because they had never explicitly defined it themselves.<p>

She screamed as loud as her throat would give as she watched Finn make the final pass of the game – the ball sailing smoothly into Puck's waiting arms just yards away from the end zone – earning them their first win of the season. She clung blindly to her nearest squad-mate in celebration – which turned out to be Brittany, apparently – until Santana called her away.

"Victory party at my place, Quinn!" Brittany said brightly and skipped over to where Santana was waiting for her, wrapped snugly under Puck's arm. She didn't notice the nod and flirtatious smile he sent in Quinn's direction from behind her, so Quinn just nodded, waved, and called out some kind of affirmative RVSP.

She glanced up towards the bleachers, where confusion reigned supreme and the battle between those trying to make a speedy exit to avoid traffic and those who just wanted to stand and celebrate waged bloody. Inexplicably, she caught sight of Rachel, which didn't seem possible considering the crowd and the girl's height. She was with the same boy she'd been with in the auditorium on the first day of school – Kurt, Quinn had discovered later – and Rachel looked like she was trying to talk him out of something. Kurt pointed in her general direction and she felt Finn place an arm around her shoulders almost simultaneously. Her eyes locked with Rachel's for just a second when the brunette followed Kurt's pointing before her head was bent back and Finn was kissing her.

"We going to Brittany's?" he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, of course," she affirmed before he rushed off to join his teammates in the showers.

Kurt and Rachel were gone when she scanned the bleachers again.

* * *

><p>This was not Quinn's first experience with alcohol, though it was her first experience with alcohol in such a public setting. She had gotten into her dad's Scotch stores a few times before, when Lucy's loneliness and self-loathing got too heavy. Strawberry wine coolers, however, were a far cry from Scotch, and she was lucky that the unpleasant face she kept making after every gulp was being read as novice-drinker-squint. Even one of the cheap light beers floating around would be better than this, but wine coolers were what the rest of her squad was drinking, and so wine coolers it would be.<p>

Except Santana, of course, but Quinn had quickly learned that Santana was the exception that proved the rule, rather than evidence that she could deviate from the carefully constructed persona she had created.

She took a long gulp from her third drink of the night, wincing at the sugary concoction working its way down her throat and noticing vaguely that it was almost empty. She had long since given up pretending to be invested in Finn's and Puck's conversation as they each tried to explain why one fictional character would beat another fictional character, and focused on Santana snuggled into Puck's side.

He had his arm wrapped possessively around her shoulders and she had her head pressed against his chest, looking up adoringly as he made his point. Meanwhile, Santana's legs were spread across the couch, a foot sliding lazily up and down Brittany's leg. Quinn wondered if Puck really didn't notice or if he just pretended not to. And then she finished her drink.

Or tried to, anyway.

She glanced over at the coffee table, vaguely aware – but not at all sure – that there was an extra empty bottle on top of it. She thought she had seen Puck move while she was watching Santana and Brittany play footsie, and a quick glance at his mischievous grin told her that he had somehow managed to switch out her almost empty bottle with a fresh one. And while it unnerved her that his attention appeared to be focused on getting her drunk, she was strangely flattered at that kind of focused attention. Finn was, for all intents and purposes, a good boyfriend, but he was far from attentive.

She watched Santana extricate herself from Puck's arm, saying, "I'll be right back," and kissing him on the cheek before stepping around the couch and heading towards the hallway. She surreptitiously trailed her fingertips along Brittany's arm on the back of the couch as she moved, and the blonde followed her quickly after.

Right. And Quinn was supposed to be the gay one. She took another long drink, and caught sight of Puck's face as the two cheerleaders left – a sadness almost masked by a sleazy grin – and she wondered if there was a single genuine person in the house.

Well, Brittany, she supposed. And Finn, maybe.

Almost on cue, Quinn felt her boyfriend give her a gentle side squeeze and stood up, holding a hand out to Puck. "Come on, man. Keg-stands." He was a man of very little words.

Puck slapped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up off the couch and the two headed in the direction of the back yard, and then Quinn was alone with a mostly full wine cooler.

She stretched lazily before pushing herself off the couch and made her way tipsily into the kitchen where some of the other cheerleaders were gathered. She wasn't sure which drink she was on – her fourth? fifth? – but she didn't feel drunk; it was more of a pleasant tingling in her fingertips and warmth behind her eyes.

She joined the conversation as Ashley pinched her own sides, exaggerating the small fat deposit that literally every one of them had around her hips, and called herself fat. Quinn found herself drinking more quickly from her bottle, stopping only to assert to the next cheerleader in line that she was, in fact, so skinny while flashbacks to her own childhood and echoes of "Lucy Caboosey" echoing in her ears.

These girls? Fat? How dare they? Quinn could show them fat – she wouldn't, but she could. They didn't know what it was like to be forced into the adult's section in junior high. None of them had any idea of the special kind of torture that comes along with developing an elastic line. She was willing to bet all of the money in the world that absolutely none of these girls had ever been called fat by anyone other than themselves, and she would have thrown up had she not opted instead for simply drinking more.

But she was suddenly aware of how many sugary calories she was actually consuming, and with that acknowledgment came the hyperawareness of the way her own clothes clung to her body.

She set the now empty bottle down on the counter just as Puck came up with a fresh one; she took it habitually. "Hey, Finn had to take off," he tells her gently. "Something came up with his mom, but he didn't want to pull you away from your friends."

Her friends? These cheerleaders that were just as whiny and snivel-y as Lucy had been were supposed to be her friends? She had decided to stop drinking, but she couldn't stop herself from taking another large gulp at the realization that, yes, that's exactly who these people were supposed to be – her friends. And Finn had left her with them. Finn had gone because he thought she was having fun.

How did this happen, again?

She shook her head and pushed past him, making her way back through the den and down the hallway, locking herself in the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, placed her wine cooler on the sink, and focused on breathing. Silhouettes of her old body threatened to attach themselves to her actual frame, and she shut her eyes and willed them to go away. She wasn't Lucy, anymore – would never be again. She was Quinn Fabray and she was perfect. Thousands of dollars had seen to that.

She took several more gulps of her drink and splashed some cold water across her face, effectively cooling the warmth in her face as well as bracing her against the increasing dizziness she hadn't noticed creeping up on her.

When she her breathing evened out and she was sure that Lucy was back where she belonged, Quinn settled as best she could into elusive nonchalance before leaving the bathroom. She wasn't expecting Puck to be waiting for her in the hallway.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she thought he just might have meant it.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said, stepping tentatively towards the den, her hand stabilizing her against the wall.

Puck was at her side with a hand on the small of her back. "You sure? Do you need to go lay down?"

Yeah, actually. That sounded like a really good idea that she hadn't thought of until just then. She nodded her head and he carefully and slowly steered her further down the hall and into what appeared to be a guest room. The bed was obviously rarely used, and the comforter was stiff, but she sank down into the mattress anyway, and curled onto her side. She groaned and roller farther across the bed and onto her other side when she felt Puck slide on the bed beside her.

"I'm just making sure you're okay," he said, trying but completely unable to hide the plotting smile on his face.

"Why are you with her?" Quinn asked, not entirely sure where the line of questioning came from.

"Let's not talk about Santana."

"She doesn't want you, you know," she pointed out, fairly sure that it was a fact her knew already.

She saw something flash behind his eyes before that infuriating smirk came back. He placed his hand on her hip and smiled at her. "You saying you do?"

She rolled her eyes, but made no attempt to move his hand – mostly because she hadn't yet registered it was there. "No."

He leaned over her towards the end table where she had set her wine cooler. "You gotta finish this," he teased as he swished the liquid inside. "It's wasteful if you don't." She scrunched up her face and pushed his arm away, but he just laughed and pushed it back towards her. "Come on, you can do it. You're a soldier."

And for reasons she didn't care to think about at that moment in time that was all it took to convince her to drink the rest of the wine cooler. His lips were on her neck as soon as her lips were on the bottle, and her gasp of surprise was drowned out by the immediate need to swallow the liquid threatening to drown her.

She slammed down the empty bottle on the night stand triumphantly and turned towards him to protest, but his lips were on hers before she could get a word out. She thought about Finn, and she thought about Santana, and she thought about Puck, and she knew that this was not the way that this was supposed to be happening – not this way and not with this person, but she was overwhelmed by the feeling of his weight on her, and if she thought she felt powerless next to Finn, it was nothing compared to the tightly muscled body of his friend pushing her into the mattress.

She thought about mentioning a condom, but he was already inside, and when she dug her nails into his bicep in discomfort, he took it as encouragement and only moved faster. She screwed up her face and her body went limp under him, and she listened to his grunts speed up as she waited what felt like an eternity for him to finish. She was sore and raw, and relieved when it was over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: **_I refuse to believe that somebody that both Quinn and Rachel would be interested in would be stupid enough to believe he could get someone pregnant through a hot tub._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 04**

Quinn turned the small cross over and over in her hands, the metal long since having warmed to the temperature of her fingertips – she had taken it off when she began to notice its weight after she had woken up by violent nausea for the third time that week, and she sat on the edge of the bathtub catching her breath and palming the necklace.

It was October – a month since the party at Brittany's, and she was late. She had been late before, but only by a day or two. She should have been more worried, but she felt disconnected from the whole situation. When she woke up to the bile rising up her throat in the morning, it felt like it was happening to someone else.

Which is how it felt when she slid the gold cross across the bathroom counter and picked up the small strip of plastic she had peed on. She took a deep breath and steeled her still upset stomach before looking at the test.

Positive.

She felt her stomach drop for a moment before righting itself and she followed suit in the mirror. She brought her shoulders back and her chin up, and when she was satisfied, she carefully refastened the gold cross around her neck. Everything was fine. She was fine. She would deal with this when she had to.

She mechanically gathered up the pregnancy test and the remnants of its wrapper and stuffed the whole thing in her purse, making a mental note to dispose of the evidence far, far away from her home.

* * *

><p>She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she knew the auditorium wasn't going to be empty when she pushed one of the heavy double doors open at the side of the stage. She had managed to get inside unnoticed once, and she was determined to do it again. So she wouldn't exactly be alone for the lunch hour; she'd at least be left alone so long as she didn't give herself away.<p>

Sure enough, as she eased the door shut behind her, she caught sight of Rachel on stage, bent over the piano and studying what Quinn assumed was a score of some kind, her left hand plucking clumsily through a bass line. Quinn stuck to the darkened house area, following the wall towards the back row of seats. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and refused to think about anything except for the stilted sounds coming from the piano across the room.

She didn't notice they had stopped until she felt someone slide down the wall next to her. She pretended to have imagined it. No one knew she was here.

"Quinn?"

Okay, maybe she wasn't as stealthy as she thought. She turned her face towards Rachel, then back up to the now empty stage, and pretended not to notice the amused smirk Rachel hid behind worry and confusion.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, resting her cheek on her forearm resting on her knees, and stared at a patch of carpet to the right of Rachel's foot.

"I can practice later," Rachel said with a shrug, and shuffled awkwardly, shifting her position next to Quinn, and only spoke again when the silence got too loud. "I understand if you want to be alone, but I get the feeling you knew you wouldn't be alone here."

Quinn sat up and opened her mouth to protest, only to sigh and slump against the wall. "You're probably right."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really,"

Rachel nodded in understanding, but they only made it two minutes before she spoke again. "It might make you feel better to talk about it," she offered.

Quinn found herself forcing out bitter laughter because, no – talking wouldn't fix this. She sobered quickly and her face fell, and her first instinct was to get up and run, but where was she supposed to go? So instead, she just sunk further against the wall and whispered "I'm pregnant," in the general direction of Rachel's silhouette, and she felt something break inside of her.

"Oh."

Quinn was on her feet in seconds and heading towards the door. She should have kept going when she heard Rachel call for her to wait, but she didn't. She stood stiffly in the middle of the aisle and waited for the shorter girl to approach.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "I was just surprised, I guess."

Quinn sighed and pressed her palms against her cheeks. "You didn't do anything wrong, I'm just… " she said gesticulating vaguely before falling limply into one of the seats next to the aisle.

"Is it Finn's?" Rachel asked, sitting next to her, and Quinn couldn't stop the laughter that ripped itself from her throat. Because hearing the situation out loud like this did nothing to make it more real – it just sounded absurd. "Sorry," Rachel amended quickly. "Of course it's Finn's, who else's would it be?"

"It's Puck's," she said, laughing again.

"Santana's boyfriend?"

More laughter. "Yeah, Santana's boyfriend," she confirmed – Santana, who didn't even want him in the first place, who was probably on top of Brittany while Puck had been on top of Quinn.

"You know, I always heard about the frenemy phenomenon that's said to occur between teenagers of high social status, but I always thought it was just something made up for dramatic purposes. For instance, the exceptionally popular movie Mean Girls effectively utilizes this trope to offer commentary on how patriarchal messages influence the way teenagers relate to each other in a really post-modern way that just…"

"You talk a lot," Quinn said, turning to Rachel and smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks.

"Yeah, people have said that," Rachel said, distantly. "Sorry. Not the point," she sighed and looked at Quinn contemplatively. "So have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Quinn shook her head softly, looking back at the stage and the lone piano. "No."

"Well, Quinn, you might not have long to think about it. I mean, if you decide to enact your legal right to choose, then…"

"No," she said, her hand coming up to her throat and finding the cross around her neck. "That's not an option."

"Right," Rachel said, glancing between Quinn's face and her necklace. "Still, you know people are going to find out eventually, right?"

Quinn nodded and readjusted herself in her seat. "Yeah. But they're not going to find out today and they're not going to find out tomorrow. They're not even going to find out next week. So I think I can take a moment."

"Take a moment?"

"Yeah. I'm taking a moment," Quinn repeated, more sure of herself than she probably should have been.

"Okay, Quinn."

* * *

><p>So Quinn took a moment. She took a moment that turned into days and then weeks, and before she knew it, Thanksgiving had come and gone, and the only thing she had managed to do was convince her family that the unexpected weight gain was just from the recent passing of the holiday. And then it was December and layers and coats were not only acceptable but expected. It was as though she was waiting for something to force her to confront it – to make it real, and finally break the disconnect she felt from the whole situation.<p>

Which is how it came to be three weeks before Christmas by the time she finally got around to moving at all. It was innocuous enough – from her father's end, anyway – just an offhand joke about how puffy she looked in her winter coat on her way out the door for a date with Finn, and she couldn't shake it. She heard it when he put his arm around her in the darkened theater, and she heard it as she nibbled on her breadsticks at dinner.

She looked up when Finn stopped ranting about his favorite wrestler. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded, and looked back down at her plate, twirling her pasta and taking what she hoped came off as a dainty bite. Truth was, she was starving. She heard her father's voice in her head yet again, and shook her head. "Not really," she said.

Finn had the presence of mind to finish his mouthful and wipe his face before placing his napkin back in his lap before speaking, which meant that Quinn was probably rubbing off on him in some way. "You can tell me," he said, and he looked stressed, but was obviously going for supportive.

It was that moment she realized she was going to lose him. Why had she thought otherwise? Was he just going to overlook the fact that she was three months pregnant with another boy's – his best friend's – baby? He spoke pretty words, now, but that's just because he didn't know better.

It came out in a rush – "I'mpregnant" – as though it had been banging against her voice box and could wait no longer to escape, and for a minute she was unsure if he understood. Finn's faces all pretty much looked the same, but if she paid enough attention, she could distinguish the shift between confusion, recognition, confusion, and then anger by the distance between his eyebrows.

"We never had sex," he said, his voice low.

She looked down and pretended her food was really interesting. "I know."

"Who?"

She looked back up at him, her eyes wet. She couldn't tell him this. It was bad enough that she had cheated on him. He didn't need to know – didn't want to know – the details. "Don't ask me that," she said.

"Tell me Quinn. I have a right to know," he said, his voice still quiet, but vibrating with an intensity she hadn't known he was capable of.

And of course he was right. This wasn't about her, anymore. "…Puck," she said, so softly she hoped he wouldn't hear.

But he did.

"Come on," he said, standing up and making a final pass at his mouth with his napkin.

She looked at him, surprised. "What?"

"Come on. I'm taking you home."

She followed him quickly as he made his way to the cashier and stood awkwardly as he paid for their dinners. She could see his jaw clenching as he drove her home, and his knuckles had gone white from his grip on the wheel, but those were the only indicators of his tension.

He didn't say good night when she got out of his car.

* * *

><p>She didn't see Finn the next day at school, but she hadn't really been expecting to. If she knew him like she thought she did, he would have been at Puck's, getting drunk and watching porn, but she doubted Puck's involvement in this particular situation, and she couldn't shake the visual of Finn drunkenly masturbating in a dark room.<p>

It was sad.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She jumped as a fist slammed into the locker next to her and she spun around to come face to face with an extremely angry Puck. He had a black eye. She conjured up her coldest glare, and internally smirked as he subtly recoiled in response. "Back off, Puck."

He looked around at the other students passing by them, a few kids slowing their progress to eavesdrop on the unfolding scene. He stepped closer to Quinn and dropped his voice. "I deserved to know. I shouldn't have heard it from Finn."

She couldn't summon the guilt she had with Finn. She had wronged Finn. But she made one mistake with Puck – a boy she barely knew and owed nothing to, and they hadn't spoken since. He didn't get to feel betrayed. She poked him hard in the chest and invaded his personal space. "Get over yourself. Stop pretending you actually care."

"Of course I care! I lost my best friend over this," he said, trying and failing to keep his voice from rising.

She didn't even want to stop herself from laughing in his face. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you slept with his girlfriend." She pushed past him and took a few steps down the hall towards her next class.

"You're getting rid of it," he insisted, loudly enough to make those in the vicinity stop and watch the full-blown scene.

"Not that you get a say, but it's a little late for that," she tossed over her shoulder, and kept walking. She heard him hit a locker behind her, and she turned briefly to watch him storm down the other end of the hallway.

Which is how she managed to walk directly into Sue Sylvester.

"Q," she said, sternly. "In my office," she demanded and started marching in the direction of her office, and Quinn followed her obediently. "Do my ears deceive me?" she asked once they reached their destination and she moved to stand behind her desk. "Or did I just hear that you're carrying that Neanderthal's spawn?"

Quinn tried not to wince at the description of her situation, but she nodded tightly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, that explains a few things," Sue said with a tight smirk. "You know, of course, this means you have no place on my squad," she explained.

Of course Quinn knew. It was covered under the lifestyle clause of the contract she had signed upon joining the Cheerios; she didn't know why she thought she'd be exempt from it. No one was special to Sue Sylvester. "Yes, ma'am," she said again.

"Then get out of my office."

* * *

><p>Quinn was starting to suspect that her locker was a magnet for confrontation. Dealing with Puck and getting kicked off the Cheerios clearly wasn't a big enough day. No, she needed to deal with Santana to top off what would otherwise be a perfect day.<p>

"I thought I told you to stay away from my man."

Quinn sighed. She was too emotionally drained to deal with this adequately. Her back hurt and her feet were sore and all she wanted was to go home and curl up in bed. "Just stop it, Santana. Everybody knows you're just using him."

"Excuse me?"

"He's not the one you want," Quinn explained, stepping close to the cheerleader. "You're not as stealthy as you think you are. Anyone with brains can see how in love you and Brittany are."

Something shifted inside Santana. She simultaneously relaxed and became even more predatory at the same time. Maybe she was just in her element. Maybe she was sure of what she had. "Yeah, well, at least I have a self to see. No one knows who the fuck you are, but you were never one of us."

"How would you know who I am?"

"Oh, please, Q," Santana said, rolling her eyes. "I might be using Puck, but you can't honestly say you weren't using Finn. I just can't figure out why."

Quinn sighed. She just wanted this to be over. "Whatever Santana. Follow your own advice – don't talk about things you don't understand."

"Watch it, princess. The only thing saving you from a beat down is that baby in your belly."

Quinn shrugged. "Then you'll let me excuse myself from this conversation without violence," she said and turned away from Santana, heading towards the parking lot.

"Just stay the fuck away from us, Fabray," Santana yelled down the mostly deserted hallway.

"Not going to be a problem," Quinn shot back before rounding the corner and leaving Santana – and this day behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: **_Uggggghhhhhhhhhh…_..

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 05**

It was almost refreshing, actually. Despite the snow outside, it was pretty warm in the school, which didn't account for the extra degrees she was running while at rest, made worse by having to climb stairs twice a day. So when the ice came down, it felt nice, until she realized just how much syrup stung when it got her eyes, or the grungy feeling that comes with that much liquefied sugar coating her skin and hair.

She wasn't surprised. News had a tendency to travel quickly, and whispers of her pregnancy were running across the school like wildfire by the Monday after she lost her spot on the Cheerios. She was, however, frustrated that a surprise slushie attack left her without her sight long enough for the offender to make their escape. How was she supposed to enact revenge if she didn't have a target?

Then again, how was she supposed to enact revenge at all?

She ignored the points and stares as she made her way to the nearest restroom to clean up. It came second nature to her at this point, really, and she was disappointed by how quickly she had slipped back into this space and how familiar it felt.

She pushed open the bathroom door and made her way to the sinks, seemingly alone, and bent low next to the faucet, splashing hot water on her face and removing the larger clumps of ice from her hair.

"Quinn?"

She jumped as Rachel entered the bathroom, and she turned around to face her, back against the sink and faucet still running. She kept her chin up and tried to look intimidating, but it was hard with blue sludge dripping from her hair.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said.

Quinn felt herself tense up, but she was past the point of running. "Don't," she warned, setting her jaw.

Rachel stopped abruptly and held up her hands defensively. "Okay," she said, in a calm and even tone, and began to walk slowly towards Quinn, almost as though she were afraid she'd disappear if she made any sudden movements. Quinn watched as she came closer and closer until Rachel was standing in front of her. She pushed herself back further against the sink, but Rachel reached around her body, grabbed a paper towel, moistened it with the still running water before turning off the faucet, and dabbing at the spots of blue in Quinn's hair. "It's not that bad," she said, mostly to herself. "It seems to have mostly gotten your blouse."

Quinn grabbed the paper towel from Rachel and spun away from her, moving down to the last sink in the row and attempted to clean herself up. "Stop," she said. "Just leave me alone."

"What is your problem?" Quinn wasn't prepared for her anger. Rachel had always been fairly soft-spoken in the few interactions they'd had. "I'm just trying to help. It's not like I haven't done this before."

"I don't need your help," Quinn said, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to keep it from tangling. She gave up after a few passes and stepped in front of Rachel. "I can handle myself."

Quinn probably should have been more annoyed when Rachel rolled her eyes, but she wasn't. And she probably should have demanded respect at her exasperated sigh, but she didn't do that, either. She just waited for what she knew was coming.

"Okay, Quinn," Rachel said with a defeated shake of her head, and Quinn was out the door.

* * *

><p>She had never skipped school before, but there was only one more class left and she desperately needed a shower. So she wrapped her jacket around her as best she could, kept her head down, and swiftly made her way to her car and back home. She was surprised to see both of her parents' cars in the drive, and considered driving around until school was out. But a quick survey of the house revealed her mother in one of the upstairs rooms – her parents' bedroom, it looked like, with her ever present wine glass, and she knew she was in trouble either way.<p>

She watched her mom top off her glass and disappear from the window and she took a deep breath to brace herself for the upcoming fight before stepping out of her car into the battleground.

"Lucy!"

She jumped at the name of her first name; they didn't use it, anymore. Lucy was the failure of the past. Quinn was supposed to be the future. She made her way quickly to her father's study and poked her head inside. "Yes, Daddy?"

He was standing by the window facing the backyard, next to his Scotch table, and she tried to compare the amount in the bottle now to the last time she saw it in order to gauge his level of drunkenness, and she guessed he was just on the side of self-control. "Why aren't you in school?" he asked, looking at his watch.

She stepped fully into the room, standing straight with her hands behind her back and her head down. "I'm sorry, sir. I just had a bit of a spill and needed to clean up," she said quietly.

He looked up and took in her disheveled appearance, and her ruined clothes, and took a sip from his tumbler. She wished he would stop drinking. One class was not that serious. "That looks like more than a bit of a spill," he said gruffly.

"Right," she said, "so, I'm just going to go wash up." She started to turn, hoping to make a speedy exit before this escalated into ridiculous proportions.

"Get back here, young lady!" her father bellowed, and she returned to her attentive yet submissive stance in front of him, and forced herself not to react when her mother entered the room. "Your mother heard some interesting gossip today," he said, studying the drink in his hand. "What was it, hon?"

She glanced over to her mother, who was sitting in a chair by the bookcase, and sipping on her wine. Her mother was probably drunker than her father, at this point. "Word has it that you've been kicked out of the Cheerios," she said, meeting neither Quinn's eyes, or Russell's, and Quinn felt her stomach drop.

Her father moved to the front of his desk, leaning against it nonchalantly and sloshing the Scotch in his glass. "But I thought that couldn't be. We had that spot on the Cheerios guaranteed to us, how could you possibly have gotten kicked off?" The question was rhetorical, and Quinn knew better than to answer it for him. "So, naturally, I had a friendly chat with Sue Sylvester in order to get to the bottom of it. And you know what she told me?" He looked at her hard for a long time until she shook her head minutely. "She said that you had been kicked off the team because you could no longer perform while carrying that Jew trash's bastard."

She knew how drunk he was, now, if he had started to talk like that. He was probably working on his fourth drink. He didn't usually get violent until the fifth. "Daddy, I'm so sorry," she said brokenly, shaking her head.

He knocked back the rest of his drink and slammed his empty glass on the desk behind him. "You don't even deny it," he said, standing straight and taking a few dangerous steps toward her. "That's funny, I don't recall raising you to be a whore!" he yelled, his body inches from hers and his face red.

The tears came instantly, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall, and shook her head. "No, Daddy, it was just one time. It was an accident."

"Russell," she heard her mother's voice attempt to coax the man out of his rage.

"Shut up, Judy!" he called as he raised his hand to his daughter. "An accident?!"

Quinn flinched in anticipation of the backhanded slap she saw coming, but it never happened. "Ten minutes," she heard her father say before she opened her eyes. He was moving back towards his Scotch table with his glass in hand. "You have ten minutes to get what you need and get out," he said, his voice calm and final.

"Daddy…"

"Go." It was her mother this time, but when she tried to meet her eyes, she was already looking away and drowning in her wine. She watched as her father poured his next drink and turned and left the study, climbing the stairs in record time.

With a clenched jaw, she emptied the contents of her underwear drawer into her largest duffel, followed by the most functional of her jeans and shirts – things easily washed and maintained. When the duffel was full, she put the rest of her essentials in her largest suitcase, which had wheels, as luck would have it. She found the stash of money she kept hidden behind her mirror and slid it into her pocket. It wasn't a lot – just a couple hundred, small bills put away from every birthday and Christmas – but it was better than nothing, and she removed the picture of Lucy she kept in the mirror frame as a constant reminder of what she could sink to if she let herself. After shoving her copy of Jacob's Ladder into her suitcase she moved quickly into the bathroom, sweeping her toiletries from the counter and into her bags. She made sure she had everything she'd need for school, and as she was surveying her desk, her eyes lingered on the school directory laying untouched on the corner, and quickly folded and stuffed that in her pocket as well.

She felt herself harden as she left her room and moved downstairs. Her mother was waiting for her at the door, and Quinn lifted her chin in false pride.

"Leave your keys," her mom said, holding out her hand.

Quinn nodded curtly and produced her key ring mechanically. This was her parents' subtle way of taking her car back and making sure she couldn't come back. This was final.

"And your cell phone."

She dug in her pocket and produced that as well, placing it heavily in her mother's hand. No contact, then. Without a word, she moved past her and left her home, balancing her duffel on one shoulder, her backpack on the other, and dragging her suitcase behind her. She had forgotten that she was still blue and sticky until the biting wind reminded her. She leant into the wind and made her way down her driveway and down the street. She waited until she was safely away from the house before pulling the directory out of her pocket. She had no friends. Not really. But there was one place she thought she might be able to go. It was a long shot, and she knew that, but it was better than no shot.

* * *

><p>Her nose was numb. Her nose was numb, but she knew it was running because of the wetness that would fall just above her lip every so often. So her nose was numb and running, but she couldn't feel it running, which meant that she was gross. She was already gross, though, so she guessed it didn't really matter.<p>

She was outside of a modest two story house in a smaller neighborhood a few miles away from her parents' house, and she was leaning her weight against her upright suitcase as she tried to convince herself to knock on the door. She wasn't sure if anyone was home. School had gotten out about a half hour ago, and there was a car in the drive, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It's not like she had any business being there in the first place. Why would she possibly think this would be okay?

She had just about convinced herself to give up and leave when the front door opened and a short brunette came out of the house. "Quinn?" Rachel called as she made her way across the lawn.

Quinn shook her head and stood up, gathering her things on her shoulders again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here," she said, turning to leave.

Rachel was quick for being so short. "Wait," she said, and she was standing in front of Quinn and blocking her progress before she had a chance to take two steps. Rachel took in her appearance – her bags and her matted hair, and her eyes softened. "What happened?"

Quinn had no right to be there. She knew that. The last time Rachel had tried to help her – was it really only three hours ago? – she had practically bitten the girl's head off. What right did she have showing up on her doorstep with no other options? "It's nothing," she said, waving Rachel off. "My parents kicked me out. I was just…" What? What was she doing there? "…wondering if you knew of any shelters? I guess?"

Rachel's brow furrowed in sad confusion. "Quinn," she said gently. "This town's too small. You'd have to go down to Dayton – you know that."

Quinn drew in a deep breath. She did know that, but she couldn't bring herself to ask what she really wanted to. "Right," she said. "Maybe I can get a bus."

"Wait, Quinn," Rachel said, reaching towards her arm but never make contact. "Do you…" she stopped and furrowed her brow, clearly pondering the best way to phrase her question. "Do you want a shower?" she asked, gesturing towards the house. "And maybe a nap?"

She felt herself physically relax at the prospect of a shower. And a warm bed after? She hadn't let herself feel how tired she was, but now that the option was on the table, her fatigue was quickly catching up to her. She could do a shower and a nap. There wasn't a lot involved with that. She'd figure out her next move afterwards. Rachel was just a necessarily and temporary stop on her road to….

Homelessness?

"Yeah, that would be great," she said, slumping under the weight of her situation. She let Rachel relieve her of her duffel bag, and Quinn followed her into her home. She abandoned her things at the bottom of the stairs and followed Rachel to the second story. "Are your parents home?" she asked.

"No, they don't usually get home until the evening," Rachel responded, leading Quinn into the bathroom and pulling a clean towel from the cabinet. "My room's the first one on the right when you're finished," she said, pointing to a closed door just outside the bathroom. "You can sleep as long as you'd like."

Quinn nodded slowly, taking the towel from Rachel, and running her hands across the soft fabric. "I won't stay long," she insisted.

Rachel just smiled sadly. "Okay, Quinn," she said and slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Quinn to herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: **_Well, I guess this got away from me. In kind of a really great way. I was originally going to break this and the next chapter up differently, but I discovered that would throw my pacing off, and this chapter winded up way longer than I thought it would be, anyway. Which is weird, because it may seem like nothing is happening, but there's a reason I'm showing you these scenes. And that's how this chapter and the next actually became three._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 06**

She hadn't planned on letting herself cry in the shower, but she hadn't planned on a lot of things. She lost track of how long she had been standing under the spray of hot water, letting the shower wash away any evidence of weakness, but her fingers were prune-y before she even bothered to wash her hair.

The mirror was steamed over when she finally stepped out of the shower, and she made no move to remedy the situation. She wasn't physically dirty anymore, but she was pretty sure she looked horrible, anyway. As she wrapped a towel around herself, she realized that she had left her bags, and therefore all of her clothes, at the bottom of the stairs. She groaned and looked around for a robe, or something else that she could wear until she could retrieve her things. Finding none, she steeled herself and pulled the door open, reaching Rachel's room in three strides, desperately clinging to the towel around her body.

Her initial plan had been to borrow some of Rachel's things until she got downstairs, but her bags were lying on Rachel's bed, so she didn't have to. She tried and failed to keep her fingers from shaking as she dug through the hastily packed mess in search of clean sleepwear. When she finally managed to clothe herself, she hung her towel on the doorknob and took a quick glance around the room. There were several posters of Broadway musicals – some of which she recognized, some of which she didn't, and an elliptical, strangely. And the gold star motif was definitely hard to miss.

Quinn thought back to the day she met Rachel. What had she called her? Bright and shiny?

She dragged her things from the bed to the floor and pulled back the blanket on Rachel's bed, practically falling into it in her exhaustion. It was softer than her own, and she thought it would make it difficult to sleep. She was wrong, though. Almost as soon as she allowed herself to close her eyes, she was out.

She didn't know how long she slept, but it was dark outside by the time she woke up, and a heavy pit in her stomach as she remembered she was a homeless pregnant teenager. The weight spread through her body until she was numb, and she allowed herself to get out of bed. Her eyes caught sight of the mug resting on the night stand that hadn't been there before, and she wrapped her hands around it. Still warm. And looked to be hot chocolate. She wondered how often she had been checked on, and how long ago this had been left.

She took a sip – hot chocolate confirmed – and it was warm enough to flow through her limbs into her toes, but not so hot it burned her tongue. She set the mug down on Rachel's desk while she put on actual clothing; no part of her wanted to meet Rachel's parents in her pajamas. She stood in front of Rachel's mirror and pulled her hair back in a low ponytail, intentionally ignoring the apparent bags under her eyes and the sallow look to her face. She hadn't looked this rough since Lucy, but she supposed she was presentable as she could hope for. Who was she trying to impress, anyway?

She picked up the mug of hot chocolate and left the room, making her way downstairs. There was a formal living room on one side of the stairs, where she noticed a tastefully decorated Christmas tree standing next to an accent table holding a menorah. She hadn't realized Rachel was Jewish (or was she? Christmas tree), but two of the candles were already lit, so Hanukkah must have been well underway.

Turning, she moved through a much less formal den and into the kitchen – also deserted. Was she alone in the house? Had she woken in a horror film? Was her hot chocolate poisoned?

"Quinn?"

She jumped as the back door opened and Rachel came inside, and she was a little proud of herself for not spilling.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Rachel said sheepishly.

Quinn took another sip of her hot chocolate and set it on the counter. "It's okay," she said, getting her breathing under control. "Thanks for that, by the way," she added, pointing to the mug on the counter. "And… everything else."

"You're welcome," Rachel said softly, and silence fell around them.

Quinn fiddled with her hot chocolate and took a few sips to distract her. "Where are your parents?" she asked, finally feeling the need to fill the space with something.

"Oh," Rachel said, sighing and waving dismissively at the door she had just come though. "They're outside. Daddy's smoking, and Dad doesn't let him do it in the house. And he let him, I wouldn't," she said, crossing her arms in distaste.

Quinn's brow furrowed as she processed what Rachel had just said. Daddy's smoking and Dad doesn't let him. Dad and Daddy? Two of them? "Are they gay?"

Rachel bit out a short laugh before stopping herself. "Yeah," she said, arching her eyebrow. "That's usually what having two parents of the same sex means."

Quinn ran her hands over her pulled back hair. "Sorry," she said. "That was… insensitive."

Rachel sighed and moved to sit at the table on the other side of the room. "It's okay. You didn't know, and it can be… surprising." She paused as Quinn followed her to the table and sat across from her. "Though, in the interest of full disclosure, they're also an interracial gay couple. Daddy's black."

Quinn nodded as she processed the information. She wasn't really racist or homophobic. Not in any real sense. She had just never had much intimate experience with gay people, and her father had always made it clear how he would feel if she ever started dating a black man. "Good for them," she said, and she found that she meant it.

Rachel chuckled softly to herself before sobering. "So…. Do you want to – I mean, not that you have to, but…. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Not much to tell," Quinn said, sighing and shrugging one of her shoulders. She looked pensively into the brown liquid in her mug. "They heard I got kicked off the Cheerios. Dad called Coach Sylvester to find out why. She told him I was pregnant. He called me a whore and kicked me out," she summarized, refusing to look at anything but the wood grain in the table.

"Wow," Rachel said before falling silent again. Quinn nodded and the two sat in silence for a few more minutes before they were interrupted by the back door opening and boisterous laughter echoing across the kitchen as a tall black man, followed by a shorter white man entered the house.

The two men stopped laughing with each other when they saw Quinn, and they both shuffled awkwardly at their accidental intrusion. The taller man was the first to recover. "Well, it looks like our guest is finally awake," he said with a welcoming smile. He moved to the table, followed closely by his husband and extended his hand to Quinn. "I'm Leroy. This is Hiram," he said, gesturing to the other man in the room.

Quinn stood up from her seat to shake both men's hands in turn. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Quinn," she said. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Well, you're very polite," Hiram observed as he shook her hand before turning his attention to his daughter. "Hey, kiddo, could you help me with the computer n the study? You know how bad I am with technology," he said, patting Rachel on the shoulder.

"Sure, Dad," she said, practically bouncing up and following him out of the room. Quinn watched her leave, and when she looked back at Leroy, he had an amused smile on his face.

He sat down in the seat Rachel had just been occupying and gestured to Quinn to take her own seat. "Quinn, I hope you don't mind, but Rachel told us a little bit about your situation," he said after Quinn sat down.

She felt herself tense again and brought her shoulders up towards her neck. "What do you know?"

He raised his hand gently. "Not a lot," he said. "I know that you're pregnant," he waited as she nodded slightly, "and I know that you've been kicked out."

She sighed and nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"Can I ask if you have any plans?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I've got some money. Not a lot, but I figured I could catch a bus to Dayton and find a shelter and figure it out from there."

His eyes narrowed and he looked at her carefully. "What about school?"

She shrugged again. "I guess I'll have to transfer, or something."

He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I was about your age when I came out," he said finally, and he smiled sadly when she finally met his eyes. "It didn't go well," he explained. "I was told that I was sick, and that I deserved to die, and that I was going to hell when I finally do. And then they kicked me out."

"I'm sorry," she said, unsure of why he was telling her this.

"Thank you," he said, "but this isn't about me. It's about you." He smiled again when she looked up at him. "I was twenty years old before I got my GED," he went on. "I had to drop out for a while; start working and take care of myself. I studied for the equivalency test in my spare time." Quinn nodded as he spoke, politely giving him her attention. "And I didn't have a baby to worry about." Quinn's shoulders slumped at his words, and she went back to examining the table. "Look, Quinn, I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm a lawyer, now. I have a husband and a beautiful daughter and I live a comfortable life." He waited until she looked at him again before continuing. "It's not the end of the world."

She took a deep breath and braced herself. She knew he was right. She was in for a rough road, but she could manage. She could do anything she put her mind to. "Look," he said, before she could start spilling out plans that made no sense. "You're in the middle of mid-terms week. I'd hate to see you mess that up. You're smart, and I'm sure you've got a brilliant future ahead of you," he said encouragingly. "I'd like for you to consider the possibility of staying in our guest room – for as long as you need or feel comfortable with. That way you can still go to school. You could graduate on time. Maybe even go to college."

Not go to college? She hadn't realized that not graduating or going to college would ever even be a possibility for her. But now… She got herself into this mess, and she wanted to get herself out of it, but she couldn't deny the reality of what he was saying. Here was a man who didn't know anything about her other than that she was in serious need of help, and he was offering to give her back the rest of her life. Finally, she nodded, accepting his offer. "I'll get a job," she explained. "And pay my way. I don't want to take advantage."

Leroy smiled wider and laughed his big, warm laugh. "Well, I'm obligated to tell you that's not necessary," he said. "But I also understand exactly why you feel you have to, so I won't offend you by refusing,"

She nodded again, more confidently this time, and stood up, offering her hand. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

He chuckled, stood up, and took her hand, but instead of shaking her hand, he pulled her into a loose hug and clapped her once on her shoulder before letting her go. "You're welcome," he said, beaming down at her, and then gestured towards the other side of the house. "Come on. Let's go see what trouble they've managed to get themselves into," he said, grinning conspiratorially with her. "You know," he said, as they passed through the den. "We could use another file clerk at the firm. Part-time of course. Think you can help keep me organized?"

She looked at his with a disbelieving look. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

* * *

><p>And that's how Quinn Fabray started riding to school with Rachel Berry. They didn't talk much during that last school week; they had a few classes together, but their schedules were generally different, and while Quinn wasn't set to start work until the following week, most of her time was spent in the guest room studying for her mid-terms. She stood respectfully with the family every night as Hiram performed the candle-lighting ritual and the three exchanged gifts with each other, and on the last night they presented her with a key to the house. She had learned how to cook at home – something expected of the women of the genteel set, but she was getting particularly good at learning how to cook vegan friendly meals.<p>

It took her much less time than imagined for her to stop expecting the Berry men to jump out in corsets and fishnets on a whim, and by the time her mid-terms were over, she found the early morning whirring of Rachel's elliptical across the hall strangely reassuring. It wasn't ideal. If anyone had told her two weeks ago that she'd be living with a girl she'd only had a handful of interactions with and her homosexual fathers, she would have thought they were crazy. But it was how things were, and it was nice to be able to let her guard down without her father controlling her every move.

Her job was low impact and low stress. They set her up in the file room and had her reorganize their system as well as taking care of all the paperwork for the new cases coming in. She had the suspicion that Leroy had created the job just for her, because there was really nothing wrong with their system before, and all of the backup that Leroy had claimed took her a whole three hours to sort through, but that wasn't something she was ever going to bring up with him. This was his way of helping her help herself, which is more than she could ever say for her own father. She had gotten her first paycheck two days ago, and she turned around and gave half of it right back to him, which he graciously accepted, and she was thankful for that, too.

It was a few days before Christmas, and Quinn was doing low impact yoga. Her pregnancy had finally started affecting the way she moved – her growing belly getting in the way of her movements – but she had to stay active. It wasn't so much a vanity thing as a sanity thing. Sitting still too long got uncomfortable for her brain, and it was better if she had a physical sensation to focus on.

"Come in," she said when she heard the knock on the door

Rachel poked her head in the door and looked around before finding her on the floor. "Sorry to interrupt Quinn, I was just…" Quinn looked up from her child's pose when Rachel trailed off and followed her gaze to Quinn's still packed bags. "You haven't unpacked, yet?" she asked, moving completely into the room and approaching Quinn's belongings.

Quinn groaned and pulled herself to her feet, following Rachel to where her luggage sat in the corner. She had been living out of her bags for the past two weeks, and it had worked out fairly well so far. "Leave it," she said, reaching for her duffel.

Rachel shrugged and reached for the suitcase instead. "Okay," she said as she unzipped it and starting pulling items out blindly. Quinn reached for it, but she wasn't as agile as she used to be, and Rachel had managed to angle herself between Quinn and the desired suitcase. "What's this?" she asked before twirling away from Quinn's things and across the room, back by the door.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned to face her, and see what she was holding. "It's just a movie," she said.

"You brought clothes and this film, I think it's more than just a movie," Rachel pointed out while examining the DVD cover.

"I just like it. It's my favorite," she said, her voice dropping.

Rachel narrowed her eyes and looked from Quinn to the movie in her hands. "I want to watch it."

Quinn laughed. "I don't think you'll like it. There's no singing," she said, moving closer and reaching for the movie.

Rachel twirled around and hugged the movie to her chest, protecting it from being snatched up by Quinn. "Not everything I watch has to have singing in it," she asserted. "Besides, you like it," she said in a softer tone.

Quinn stopped struggling and took a step back. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't really know anything about you," Rachel said with a shrug. "We share a bathroom, and all I know is that you're a fairly devout Christian who is somehow strangely tolerant of my dads, and that you have such a fierce sense of independence and self-reliance that it keeps you from accepting any kind of help without reciprocating, and…"

"And?" Quinn asked, pretending to be less curious than she was.

Rachel paused and shook her head. "That's it. See? I know nothing."

"Well, I think it could be argued that you just listed off quite a few things that you know about me," Quinn pointed out.

Rachel sat on the edge of the guest bed – Quinn's bed – and flung her hair back over her shoulder. "Come on, I want to watch it," she pleaded. "I mean, I was going to ask if you wanted to watch The Phantom of the Opera with me, but this sounds more interesting."

"Does not," Quinn challenged, crossing her arms over her chest and trying her best to conjure up her best 'bitchy-cheerleader.' Rachel didn't seem to be buying it, though.

"Interesting because you like it," she emphasized, catching Quinn's gaze and holding it.

Quinn sighed and slumped in defeat. "Fine. You're not going to like it, though," she insisted.

Rachel jumped from the bed in celebration. "I'll be the judge of that," she said, waving her prize above her head.

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn said, moving to stand in front of Rachel and finally retrieving the film. "I'll skip past the previews. You're making the popcorn," she said.

"Deal," Rachel said, and practically skipped out of the room in triumph.

Quinn shook her head in amusement and followed her downstairs, standing in front of the Berrys' entertainment center and trying to make heads or tails of the wall of technology in front of her. Finding the DVD player was simple enough, but there we so many peripherals that finding the right input took almost as long as it took Rachel to prepare the movie snacks.

"So this is a little unexpected," Rachel said as she came back from the kitchen – popcorn in hand – gesturing towards Quinn. She plopped down onto the couch and popped a kernel into her mouth.

Quinn glanced at her distractedly, standing to the side of the television with the remote in hand, trying to get to the main menu quicker. "What is?"

Rachel leaned forward to set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and brought her legs up under her on the couch, studying Quinn intently. "I've just always seen you like… perfectly put together, you know? Perfect hair, perfect makeup…"

Quinn arched an eyebrow and looked at her. "Did you really expect me to be dolled up all the time?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Rachel said, furrowing her brow and shaking her head vigorously. "Of course you're not going to lounge around the house in full makeup and sundresses. But, I don't know," she explained, shrugging, "I guess I just wasn't quite expecting…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely in Quinn's direction, seemingly unable to come up with an adequate adjective.

Quinn looked down at herself – at her plain black t-shirt that was a size too large, and the loose shorts ending at her knees – and then at Rachel's own worn jeans and fitted sweater. "Whatever, I'm pregnant and it's comfortable," she said, waving the girl's comments off and joining her on the couch after finally getting the movie started.

Rachel chuckled and passed the bowl of popcorn to her. "Okay, Quinn," she said, turning her attention to the opening explosions onscreen. They were in Vietnam, apparently.

"I hate it when you do that," Quinn said, angling herself on the couch in a more comfortable position, slightly facing Rachel and reclining towards the armrest.

"Do what?"

"'Okay, Quinn,'" Quinn repeated in a mocking tone. "It makes it sound like you're humoring me, or something." She fished a piece of popcorn from the bowl and threw it at Rachel.

Rachel laughed and batted away the offending projectile with her palm. "Maybe I am," she teased.

Quinn rolled her eyes and gestured towards the screen. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "You wanted to watch this, so pay attention."

"Yes, sir," Rachel said with a mock salute, giving her full attention to the death and mayhem happening onscreen.

* * *

><p>"I get it."<p>

Quinn arched an eyebrow and looked at Rachel skeptically. "No, you don't. Nobody ever gets Jacob's Ladder."

"No, no, no, I get it. It's all about how our minds can play tricks on us – like… what we see is not always what is. I get it," she said excitedly. "I thought it was a bit of a cop out to have had him be dead the whole time, but, whatever," she grumbled.

"Or," Quinn said, holding up a finger in protest, "the death is what was fake and it was his mind's way of relieving him of his own madness," she offered.

Rachel scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "Wait. No, wait."

"And that's why it's my favorite," Quinn said, laughing. "Nothing is ever as it seems."

Rachel narrowed her eyes, studying the blonde sitting on the other end of the couch. "I see why it's your favorite."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, hey, don't get defensive," Rachel said, holding up her hands. "I just mean that you're not what you seem. I mean, you're not that unapproachable, cold-hearted bitch you purported yourself to be," she explained as Quinn visibly relaxed. "I just understand your draw to the film, is all."

Quinn nodded. Part of her wanted to ask Rachel what she was if she wasn't what she seemed, but the other part of her was scared of the answer. What if there was none? "Can I ask you a personal question?" she asked instead.

"Of course," Rachel said, turning her body on the couch to face Quinn completely, draping her arm along the back of it.

Quinn looked away from Rachel, preferring instead to pretend that the blank screen was way more interesting. "What was it like growing up without a mom?" she asked quietly.

"I get the feeling this isn't entirely about me?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and looked at Rachel, nudging her in the leg playfully with her toe. "Come on, just answer the question."

"It wasn't bad," she said, matter-of-factly. "My dads are great parents. They didn't even have a comical freak out about having to tell me about menstruation."

"You never felt like you were missing something?"

Rachel paused and seemed to chew over her next words carefully. "Sometimes. I do sometimes feel like there are certain things that I could relate to a mom about that I can't quite communicate with my dads. I mean, yeah, they could explain menstruation to me, but they can't sympathize with just how shitty it is," she explained. "And they certainly don't know about all the conflicting messages out there that I'm receiving about my body and my sexuality first-hand. Sure, they read all the right blogs and stuff, but they don't experience it the same way, but that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate them, or love them. And I wouldn't trade my dads for anything."

Quinn nodded absently, absorbing what Rachel had articulated. She hadn't been able to bring herself to abort the life growing inside of her, but it was time to start thinking about what to do with it once it was out of her. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to give it up for adoption. She thought about Rachel, and how she had accepted Quinn into her home without batting an eye. Adoption may not be the worst thing, but maybe it would be possible for Quinn to build a funny little family. Nothing was how it was "supposed" to be, anyway.

"Are you starting to think about what you're going to do?" Rachel asked after several minutes of silence.

Quinn nodded again and sighed, rubbing at her face in hopes of stamping down on her own swirling thoughts. "I just don't know. Part of me thinks that I could do this – be a parent, I mean. But part of me thinks that somebody else could probably do it better."

Rachel shrugged. "Somebody else could always do it better. So what?"

"So, if someone else can do it better, shouldn't they?"

Rachel shrugged again. "Not necessarily. Not if it's something you want to do. Just because you think you CAN, doesn't mean you WANT to. What do you want?"

"I wish I knew."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** _Sorry, guys, I had to make an executive decision. I considered going over the holidays, but could think of nothing essential to insert into it that I hadn't already planned on bringing up later, and at the end of the day, it probably would have messed up the outline I've already had to alter, so we're just going to plug along. I'm all for Faberry flirtation, but unless it's introducing a conflict, or pointing to a particular piece of characterization, the student in me won't let me write it. Blame my education. Besides, we just had, what, two chapters of Quinn and Rachel being Quinn and Rachel? Yeah, we can move on._

_Also, I don't know how to write for Santana, which makes me very sad indeed._

_Also, I understand that Rachel is Jewish in canon, but for plot reasons, I decided she needed to be Jewish-Christian (yes, this is apparently a thing). And since this is fanfiction, I can do that. Blame the plot. The plot demands sacrifices._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 07**

By the time school started in the middle of January, Quinn could no longer hide the fact that she was pregnant. Sure, everybody at school knew about it, anyway, but it hadn't be so obvious until now. Not even her biggest jacket was going to conceal the bump. It would have been okay if it hadn't been for the continued stares and whispers. She had hoped the hype would have died down by the time they went back to school, but nothing stirred up old rumors like visible proof of its accuracy.

Rachel did what she could, but Quinn guessed she had figured out that Quinn preferred to be left to her own devices. She continued to ride to school with her, and after school Rachel would drop her off at work, where she'd file the occasional piece of paperwork in between doing her homework for a few hours before going home with Leroy. They'd usually spend their evenings together, watching movies or expanding Quinn's knowledge of vegan cuisine, and Quinn took comfort in the routine. It was easy. She knew what was expected. And it wasn't much.

School was a completely different story, however, with its countless eyes and judgmental fingers. She wondered how many of them knew about her living situation – they seemed to know everything else – and her upper back was sore by second period from the tension in her shoulders that she couldn't quite release. She was so nervous that a gentle tap on her shoulder in the hallway between classes made her jump out of her skin.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Puck said, taking a conscious step away from her.

She rolled her eyes as she calmed down. "What do you want, Puck?" she said, and started walking towards her next class again.

He fell into step beside her easily. It wasn't hard – she didn't move fast. "I just… I want to apologize," he said gently, and when she turned to him he had wide eyes. "And I want you to know that I'm gonna be there. For you and the baby, I mean."

And just like that, her chin was up and her eyebrow was as perfectly arched as it had ever been. "Excuse me," she said, stopping and holding a hand out for him to do the same.

"Look, I don't want to be some deadbeat dad," he explained, shaking his head. "I'll do whatever it takes. I'll marry if you want, just… I could be a good father," he said, and the scary part was that she believed him – believed that he meant it, anyway.

Her first instinct was to hit him. She even felt her hand ball up into a fist and her shoulder start to rear back before she stopped herself. Instead, she forced herself to take a deep breath and settle into her calmest, most in-control mask in her repertoire before she responded. "I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm not going to say it again. I don't need you," she said, and pretended not to notice his flinch at her words. "Puck, you and I had one night – which I barely remember, by the way, so you don't get to walk into my life and start looking for relationships – not with me and not with this baby – just because you think the fact that you forgot to put on a condom gives you some kind of link to us." She tried to walk away from him, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. She whirled around on him – as best she could with her ever-changing center of gravity – with fire in her eyes. "Don't touch me," she warned, her voice dangerously low.

"So what," he said, his own anger spiking in response to hers. "I was just a warm body to use?"

And then she did hit him – a punch to the jaw – mostly ineffectual, but it had him staggering back a few paces and rubbing at the spot where her fist connected. She thought she had intended on slapping him, but this would do. "You seriously need to reconsider what you think happened that night," she said, pointing at him accusingly.

He scoffed and shook his head and she had to stop herself from hitting him again. "Look," he said, clearly trying to keep his tone in control. "I know that I can be a fuck up. But this could be good," he said, gesturing to her belly. "We made that. Okay, I have been awful in the past, I know that. But I… I don't want to be like my dad. And it's not like Santana even wants me, anyway," he said, and she was surprised he knew about that. "But we made a life and that means something."

Quinn closed her eyes and took a long and deep breath through her nose. When she looked at him, she made sure to be forceful without being cruel. It was a balance she hadn't had to strike often, and it was still a little unfamiliar. "It is not my job to give your life purpose," she said. "And I don't owe you anything."

He blinked a few times, seemingly confused about why his impassioned plea appeared to fall on deaf ears, and she took the opportunity to walk away from him, hoping to get to her next class before the late bell.

* * *

><p>"Ooh, I can't wait until you pop that fucker out so I can beat you down."<p>

Quinn sighed and turned around to deal with Santana's latest outburst. Did everything have to happen all at once? Was that some rule of the universe? When it rains it pours? "What now, Santana?"

"I thought I told you to stay away from Puck."

"I don't want him," Quinn said, extending her hand as though she were physically offering him to the other girl. "He's all yours."

"Man, fuck you," Santana said, crossing her arms over her chest. "He left me," she said, more seriously. "Because he wants to be your baby daddy."

Quinn sighed, and said, "Look, not that I even want the guy in my life at all, but why do you even care?"

"Seriously, Q…" Santana started.

"No, really," Quinn said, dropping her defensive stance. "Aren't you tired of this?" she asked, gesturing between the two of them. "I mean, seriously, it's not like I'm that big of a threat to you."

Quinn watched as Santana systematically dropped all of her defenses. "Yeah, I really am," she said. "But you know I have to make a scene," she explained, moving to set on the bench in the hallway behind Quinn.

Quinn looked around the deserted hallway – school had been out for a few minutes already. "No one's around."

"Yeah, well, there was when I started," Santana said dismissively.

"Right," Quinn said, nodding conspiratorially and sitting down next to her. "Seriously, though, why not just take this opportunity to be with Brittany?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, Quinn," Santana said, looking at her with an arched eyebrow. "You know better than anyone how much I have to lose."

"Is it worth it?"

"I don't know, Quinn, you tell me," the cheerleader challenged. When Quinn stayed contemplatively silent for a few long moments, she continued, "Since when are you all pro-gay, anyway?" she asked. "I thought you were Mrs. Jesus."

Quinn laughed. "I think my current situation proves that I'm not Mrs. Jesus," she said, and shrugged, but her fingers found the cross dangling from her neck anyway. "I've been living in the Berrys' house."

"Oh," Santana exclaimed as her eyes widened in comprehension. "So that's why you've been spending so much time with the little brown Jew girl."

"I know you did not just call her a 'little brown Jew girl.'"

"Whatever, it's what she is," Santana said with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. "But back up a minute. Why are you posting up in the gayest house in Lima?"

Quinn shrugged and looked across the hall distantly. "My folks kicked me out." It was getting easier to say, and she didn't like that fact one bit.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Santana said. "I didn't even know you knew Berry."

"Not well," Quinn explained. "We met right before school started. We were never really friends, though."

"So why'd you go to her? Why not Brittany, or another one of the girls?"

"I was never one of you guys," Quinn said, glancing at Santana. "You said so yourself, remember?" She watched as Santana arched an eyebrow, clearly catching her attempt to dodge the question and waiting for her to answer it. "I don't really know. She's only ever been nice to me, and I really couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

"That's heavy, Quinn. All of it," Santana said. "That being said, you need to be hitting that."

Quinn barked out a laugh and surprised even herself as she did so. "What?"

Santana laughed at the flustered blonde. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you. I really don't. For a while, I thought you were totally gay. And then you got pregnant – by the same guy I sleep with, so that may not matter, but whatever," she rolled her eyes at the glare Quinn was shooting her. "I'm saying I don't know. There's something… different about you, Q. But she seems to get you. And I mean, I've seen the way you are around her. You were never that relaxed around us," she concluded.

"I'm not like that," Quinn said, shaking her head lightly.

"Yeah, I know. That's the point – you're not like anything."

Quinn furrowed her brow, and the two sat in momentary silence until Quinn realized just how long they'd been sitting there and that Rachel was probably waiting for her in the parking lot, and she was going to be late for work if she stalled much longer. She stood up, but looked back at the cheerleader before leaving. "Do you think we could have been friends? You know, if we hadn't been rivals?"

"Well, you're flattering yourself if you think you were my 'rival,'" Santana snarked, standing with Quinn. "But seriously? Look around, Q. Of course not. It's not that you're not cool – I mean, I wouldn't know, but probably – but I don't make the rules around here. I just play them."

Quinn nodded sadly. "Take care of yourself, Santana," she said.

"Yeah, you too."

By the time she got to the parking lot, the car had already warmed and Rachel was serenading herself along with whatever Broadway soundtrack she decided to play that day. Quinn had to knock on her window to get her attention and unlock the door so she could get in. "Sorry for making you wait," she said and slid in the passenger seat. The heat hit her like a wall, not having been around for its gradual accumulation.

Rachel turned down the stereo so they didn't have to shout to be heard over it and glanced at Quinn worriedly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, waving her hand vaguely. "Just the requisite run-in with Santana," she said, and turned to Rachel only to discover that the worried expression had grown worse. She backtracked. "It actually went well," she offered, which only served to confuse the singer. She shook her head in an attempt to end the conversation. "It's okay, really. I'm fine."

Rachel sighed and put the car in reverse before backing out of her space. "Fine, but you're telling me this story later."

* * *

><p>Quinn imagined she probably looked ridiculous, and really hoped that neither Leroy or Hiram would decide they needed to be upstairs right that very moment – though if it was one of them, she REALLY hoped it wasn't Hiram; he was a teaser – because they'd witness a scene that was surely hilarious from the outside, but absolutely embarrassing on the outside.<p>

Because really, she should not be nervous about knocking on Rachel's door. This was stupid.

She had stood in front of the door with her fist raised motionless in the air for several minutes. Then she turned around and walked a few steps away before turning around again and returning to her original position. She was pretty sure she was on her third round of this cycle. Which was ridiculous, because it's not like it was hard to talk to Rachel. But it had been a few weeks since her conversation with Santana, and what if she had been onto something? Quinn knew she was at least correct in the observation that she was more relaxed than she used to be. Was Rachel the reason for that? What did that even mean? And why did Santana seem to think it had anything to do with sex? She shook her head to clear her thoughts and took another deep breath, focusing on the fact that her panic attack was completely uncalled for and unwarranted, and she needed to stop being crazy.

This was surely just what it was like to have a friend.

So she knocked on the door, and mere seconds later, Rachel was peering expectantly out at her with a smile on her face. "Hi, Quinn," she said, opening the door wider and stepping back to let the blonde inside. "How was work?"

"It was good," she said, nodding contentedly and shoving her hands in her pockets as she entered the room. She hadn't thought about why she was knocking on Rachel's door; she probably should have done that. She was painfully aware of the awkward way she stood in the middle of the brunette's space. "Hey, can I ask you a weird question?"

Rachel blinked in confusion from her spot on the bed. "Of course," she said carefully.

"What are you?"

Rachel scoffed and leaned forward, turning her head to the side as though she hadn't heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

Quinn shook her head, surprised by her own outburst. "Sorry. I mean… religion wise. I mean, we did the candle thing."

Rachel nodded, and said, "Yes, we did the candle thing."

"And then we did the Christmas thing."

"Yes, then we did the Christmas thing," Rachel confirmed.

"And I've pretty much figured out that Hiram is Jewish and Leroy is Christian."

Another, "Yes."

"What are you?"

Rachel chuckled and then laughed harder when she saw Quinn's flustered expression. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just get that all the time. But I'm both," she said with a shrug.

Quinn moved over to Rachel's desk and pulled out the chair, taking a seat. "That's impossible."

"Says who?" she asked.

"Aren't the two contradictory?"

"Not necessarily."

Quinn narrowed her eyes and studied Rachel. Unless she was missing something very big, her next question was going to sound obvious. "How? I mean, you either believe that Jesus is the son of God or you don't, right?"

"I know who Jesus is, Quinn," Rachel said carefully. "I also know that not everything in any religious text is supposed to be taken literally." She waited for Quinn's response, but she only got a furrowed browed head nod. "I am aware of Jesus as a historical figure, as a leader and a teacher. I am aware of Jesus both as a folk protagonist, and the son of God."

"So you're Christian, then," Quinn tried to clarify, latching onto Rachel's last words.

"I never said that."

"But you said you knew Jesus as the son of God," Quinn pointed out leaning forward in her seat.

"I also said I knew him as folk protagonist."

"So then you're Jewish."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that your problem is that you need to say anybody is exactly anything," Rachel said with an amused grin on her face. "I know it can be hard to wrap your brain around, but for me, I have family history in both religions, and they're equally important to me," she explained with yet another shrug. "I just recognize faith as something abstract."

Quinn sat back in her seat and mulled over what Rachel had just told her. It was completely antithetical in her mind, but she supposed she could get behind the notion of faith as an abstract concept; that was what she had learned growing up, anyway – faith wasn't something to be proven, but felt. Trying to combine Judaism and Christianity made her brain hurt because she felt as though it would give her no real footing in either, but that obviously wasn't Rachel's experience. "Yeah, okay," she said finally. "I guess I can get that," she said, though she had only a vague notion of understanding anything.

"Now can I ask you a question?" Rachel said, scooting to the edge of her bed and leaning forward.

Quinn shrugged and gestured vaguely from where she was still halfway slumped in Rachel's desk chair. "Sure."

"Why did you hit Puck a few weeks ago?"

Quinn cringed, and probably would have sunk lower in her seat if it had been possible. "You heard about that?"

"Everybody heard about that," Rachel said smiling and rolling her eyes. "I just didn't ask about it because you've seemed more tense than usual."

"Yeah, I think I was just trying to get back into the school routine," she said distantly. "It was hard getting back into the swing of things. A lot of things are really different from how they were two months ago."

Rachel nodded in understanding and studied Quinn. "So why'd you hit him?"

Quinn eased herself up in the chair. She wasn't huge – not yet a whale – but she was definitely big enough to require altered movement. "He accused me of using him for his body," she said hesitantly.

Rachel burst into bright, happy laughter, and as much as Quinn tried to look both confused and annoyed at her outburst, she mostly just found herself smiling and chuckling right along with her. "I'm sorry," Rachel said, waving her hands in an attempt to calm down. "I just can't imagine you doing that with anyone, least of all him."

"Thank you!" Quinn said, gesturing wildly, with a look of surprise that anyone could possibly think otherwise. Her eyes met Rachel's as she laughed, and their chuckles died down as their held each other's gaze.

Surprisingly – to Quinn, anyway – Rachel was the first to break the connection, looking down at her lap and fidgeting with her fingers. "What happened that night?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "I mean, you were dating Finn, right?" she asked and looked up. "So why Puck?" she asked after Quinn nodded in confirmation.

Quinn sighed through her nose before she spoke. "It was stupid," she said, waving a hand in dismissal.

"Then why'd you hit him?"

Quinn shrugged and looked towards the door, but she figured she wasn't fast enough to make it out before Rachel stopped her, and that was if she had been standing. "Because I was barely a participant," she said softly. "I don't even really know how it happened. He was just there, and then he was just on top of me."

"Did you tell him to stop?"

Quinn pursed her lips together and shook her head tightly. "No. It wasn't like that," she tried to explain. "I was just so drunk that the whole experience still feels like a far away dream."

Rachel got up from where she was sitting on the bed and stood in front of Quinn before kneeling down in front of her. "I don't want to scare you," she said, and waited for Quinn to make eye contact before continuing. "But if you were so drunk that you barely remember it…"

"Don't," Quinn said, feeling her eyes harden before she consciously sent the command, and her hand gripped the arm rest of the chair so hard her knuckles turned white.

"But, Quinn…"

"No," Quinn said forcefully, but without the bite her tone had earlier. "Don't go there, Rachel. I'm fine."

For a minute, she thought Rachel was going to argue with her, and she couldn't think of a worse thing she could do at that moment. But she had that look in her eye she got every time she got riled up about a cause, which is exactly why she couldn't have Rachel push this. Quinn wasn't a cause. But before her eyes, Rachel's gaze shifted from determined to mischievous. "What are you doing this weekend?" she asked, finally.

Quinn shook her head in confusion at the abrupt change in conversation. "What?"

Rachel placed a hand on either armrest of the chair Quinn was sitting in and lifted herself up off the floor, leaning over Quinn. "You have done nothing but school and work the entire time you've been here," Rachel pointed out and Quinn shrugged, not seeing anything wrong with that. "And I know for a fact you don't work on weekends, so," she said, leaning a little closer, her eyes twinkling as she hovered over the blonde. "You're coming to a show with me and some of my friends," she announced, grinning brightly.

"Oh, I am, am I?" Quinn asked, looking skeptically at the singer in front of her. "And just what show are we going to?"

Rachel finally stood straight and crossed her arms over her chest defiantly and Quinn found herself leaning forward in response. "It's a surprise," Rachel insisted.

"Well, then I'm definitely not going,"

Rachel rolled her eyes and her smile wavered, but only a little. "You are absolutely no fun," she said and Quinn crossed her arms and shook her head, agreeing that no, she was not fun. "Fine, we were going to go to a showing of Rocky Horror."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, it'll be fun," Rachel coaxed, taking a few steps back toward Quinn.

"What if someone sees me?" Quinn asked, reaching out her hands for Rachel to help her stand.

Rachel scoffed and furrowed her brow, clearly offended, but helped Quinn up anyway. "I didn't know I was that much of an embarrassment to you," she said, dropping Quinn's hands and moving back to sit on her bed.

"That's not what I meant," Quinn said, dropping her hands uselessly at her sides. "I just mean… it took my father three whole days to find out I was pregnant after I told Finn."

"Who cares about your dad?" she asked, gesturing around them. "He clearly doesn't care about you."

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and fell back into intimidation mode so fast Rachel almost got whiplash. "You know, that's really easy for you to say. You have two that love you."

She thought she might have heard Rachel start to apologize as she left, but she closed the door behind her, and didn't bother listening to whatever it was the singer had to say.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:** _Heads up! I'm heading into mid-terms, so I have extra books to read, and research to conduct, and papers to write on top of my regularly scheduled three books a week, so if you don't hear from me for the next few weeks, that would be why. This may or may not happen; we'll see how effectively I manage my time. Don't go to grad school, kids._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 08**

"Come in!"

She hadn't expected to be disturbed this late at night. It was well past midnight, and the baby hadn't figured out night from day, yet, and the constant movement inside Quinn kept her awake into the wee hours of the morning. "Am I disturbing you?" Rachel asked when she poked her head into the room.

"No, I was awake," Quinn said, motioning for the brunette to enter the room.

"I brought you souvenirs," she said brightly, producing a package of fishnets and a pink feather boa from behind her back and tossing them lightly on the bed next to Quinn.

Quinn picked them up and laughed, wrapping the boa around her neck loosely. "Am I fabulous?" she asked Rachel with a glint in her eye.

"Always," Rachel said, matching Quinn's smile with one of her own. "I'm sorry for making such a big deal out of you going," she offered.

Quinn shook her head and waved her off. "I'm over it," she said, and patted the empty spot on the bed next to where she was propped up by excessive pillows, inviting Rachel to join her. "Did you enjoy your night?" she asked when Rachel settled next to her.

"I did," Rachel said, nodding happily. "Kurt and Mercedes were disappointed you didn't come, though," she explained. "They like you."

Quinn lolled her head to the side to look at Rachel, their shoulders just touching. "They don't know me," she pointed out with an amused grin on her face.

Rachel shrugged, and the movement made it harder to pretend not to notice their proximity. "They like what they've seen," she said. Quinn had met both of them a few times before, during lunch in the auditorium with Rachel. "They would like to know more of you."

Quinn shrugged noncommittally, not sure what to do with that. They were interesting people, sure, but Quinn just wasn't feeling social these days. If she was honest with herself, she had never felt social, but maintaining the façade was harder to do when she was supporting a whole other life. "I'm just not up for it, yet," she said, hoping that was enough.

Rachel nodded in understanding, and Quinn watched as her gaze moved from Quinn's eyes to her head, and then Rachel was reaching up to play with the loose bun sloppily put together low on the back of her head. "You've got man-bun going on," she observed.

"Oh, yeah," she said, reaching up self-consciously to feel her own hair, ignoring the way Rachel's fingers lingered against hers before pulling her hand away. "It's getting long. I've been thinking about cutting it."

Rachel tilted her head with a small smile and examined the blonde. "How short?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Right above my shoulders, I guess."

Rachel reached a tentative hand toward Quinn's hand, pausing in mid-air while she searched for any increased tension. Evidently finding none, her fingers found the band holding Quinn's hair in place and gently removed it, running her hands through blonde locks as it fell down her back. She held Quinn's hair back and let parts of it fall to the length she had indicated. "About here?" she asked?

Quinn settled her hand over Rachel's, feeling the spot against her neck she was indicated. "Yeah," she said, dropping her hand between them. "That seems about right."

Rachel removed her hand and let her hair fall. "Nothing fancy?" she asked. "Like, no layers or anything?"

Quinn shook her head. "Nah. It's time for a change I think."

"I could do it," Rachel offered.

"You?" Quinn asked, her eyebrow arched in skepticism.

Rachel drew her lips together in a tight line in mock agitation. "Yes, Quinn, me. I can't do fancy, but I can certainly do even."

Quinn shrugged and tilted her head in agreement. "Yeah, okay. When do you want to?"

"We can do it now, if you want."

Quinn arched her eyebrow in amused skepticism. "It's one o'clock in the morning, Rachel."

Rachel locked eyes with her and grinned. "So? I'm awake, you're awake," she said, emphasizing her point by tilting her head just that much closer toward Quinn's. The two stared at each other in a playful battle of wills until Rachel nudged Quinn in the thigh and hopped off the bed. "Come on, Fabray. Let's do this," she said, standing over Quinn and holding out her hands for the blonde to use as leverage.

Quinn rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat as she got up and moved to the chair in the room. "Yeah, okay," she said, sitting in front of Rachel. "Don't mess this up," she warned, complete with a finger-point.

"I promise you will be fine," Rachel assured as she grabbed a pair of scissors and stood behind her, placing a firm stabilizing hand on her shoulder.

Without thinking, Quinn raised her own hand to settle over Rachel's and she turned her head to look up at the singer. "I mean it," she said, with an arched eyebrow and a smile.

Rachel squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and waited for Quinn to remove her hand before getting to work. Quinn closed her eyes and relaxed as Rachel ran her fingers over her scalp and through her hair, realizing distantly that she couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed someone else touching her. It had been nerve-wracking and uncomfortable every time Finn had tilted her head back to kiss her, and Puck was just heavy. Rachel's touch, on the other hand, was light and gentle, and didn't make her squirm inside her own skin.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow?" Rachel asked as she began to cut Quinn's hair.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go to church," she said.

Rachel paused what she was doing. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," Quinn said, narrowing her eyes as though she only just realized that. "I think this is something I want to do by myself," she said. Despite Rachel's complicated religious views, Quinn knew she didn't really attend religious services. She thought it might have been because she wasn't fully comfortable in either space, but Rachel assured her it had more to do with her own fluid religious views than any discomfort in religious spaces, but Quinn still had her doubts about the whole thing.

The sound of the scissors snipping filled the room as Rachel got back to the task in front of her. "Okay," she said. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Thanks," Quinn said, and the two sat in comfortable silence as blonde hair piled up on Rachel's guest room floor.

"There you go," Rachel exclaimed as she finished cutting Quinn's hair, running her hands through it a few final times with a playful tussle. "Let see what you think," she said and helped Quinn to her feet, following her when she moved to stand in front of the mirror on the back of the closet door.

Quinn ran her hands experimentally through her own hair, experiencing a little shock every time her fingers came away from her hair sooner than she was used to. She pushed her right hand through her hair at the top of her head, pushing her hair back and taking in the way the shorter strands fell over her ears. "I like it," she said finally, nodding confidently. "Thank you," she added, meeting Rachel's eyes in the mirror.

"You're welcome," she said, stepping forward and standing next to Quinn, looking at their reflections in the mirror and running her hand through Quinn's shortened locks one more time. "Now you could come out with me and no one would even recognize you," she said with a smile that fell as soon as she felt Quinn's body tense next to her.

It had been innocent enough; Quinn knew that Rachel hadn't meant anything by it, and if she was honest, she couldn't quite put her finger on why it rubbed her the wrong way. It could have been the guilt she felt over refusing to spend time with Rachel in favor of potentially sparing her father's rhetorical feelings – which, idealistically, she understood was ridiculous, but sometimes practice doesn't always match up with ideology. But there was something about the phrase 'come out with me,' that had her teeth on edge, and she could feel the skin on her scalp crawl. "I think I'm tired now," she said, looking away from Rachel and moving back towards the bed. "Could you get the light on the way out?"

"Quinn, if I said something…"

Quinn cut her off with a shake of her head. "It's fine, really," she said, pulling back the blankets and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I just need some sleep."

Rachel clasped her hands behind her back and nodded with a tight lipped smile. "Okay, Quinn," she said, and moved to the door. "Good night," she added quietly as she flicked off the light switch.

"Good night, Rachel," Quinn said in the dark room seconds after the door had closed.

* * *

><p>Quinn had never been to this church before. It barely felt like a house of God – no stained glass, drab grey office carpeting, and fold out metal chairs instead of pews. There was no magnificence at all, but it was the exact opposite of where she knew her parents were at that very moment, and that was enough for her. She had chosen a quaint Methodist church specifically because she knew she would never in a million years run into her family.<p>

It was pleasant enough – there were the usual sermons and singing – but it was lacking a lot of the ritual that she had grown up with, and it changed the experience for her in some way – it was too irreverent. But the pastor spoke of love and forgiveness, and it was such a change from the condemnation of sinful behavior that it made up for the seeming lack of divinity in the whole affair.

She lingered after the service was over, sitting in her uncomfortable metal chair and staring at the nondescript cross hanging on the wall behind the podium. This had been a decidedly different experience of worship than she was accustomed to, and she wondered how two sects of the same religion could differ so completely from each other in their relationship with God.

She grew up knowing that God was mighty and powerful. Sure, she sang "Jesus Loves Me" at Sunday school, and mentions of mercy were made now and again, but the overarching message she had received from her religious education was that God had very specific ideas about right and wrong, and anyone who stepped outside of that morality was punished by an eternity in Hell. Her father hadn't outright told her she was going to Hell, but he had called her a whore, and she knew what that meant.

But the God that was presented here was nothing like the God she had grown to know as a child; He was kind, and loving and He forgave. She thought about what Rachel had said about faith being abstract. And then she just thought about Rachel.

She thought about how miraculous it was that Rachel had accepted her into her home hours after she had practically bitten her head off for trying to help. She thought about how easy it was to talk to her, and how open and honest Rachel had always been with her. And she thought about how easy it was to be around her – that she hadn't minded being touched by her; had maybe even enjoyed it. She had hated it when Finn or Puck touched her. Their hands were too big – too pressing and insistent. Rachel almost seemed to know that Quinn didn't like to be touched, and each time her finger had run through blonde hair, it felt almost gracious – like a thank you.

And then she thought about Santana's suggestion that she should "tap that," and for once, her stomach didn't drop.

It was true that she had never even considered romantic feelings for a girl, but to be fair, she had never considered romantic feelings for anyone. She dated Finn because she was expected to date someone like Finn. She had sex with Puck because that's what cheerleaders do, and Finn wasn't around, she guessed. But she had never liked it. Not really. Not like she thought she was supposed to.

Of course, that didn't automatically mean she was into women. The idea still felt foreign and unwieldy in her brain. But she did think it meant something that while she only tolerated being touched by Finn or Puck, she actually enjoyed the closeness with Rachel.

So maybe she could get closer to Rachel. Maybe that would be okay. And if God was half as loving as He was painted earlier, then she thought He would probably be okay with that.

* * *

><p>Quinn knocked softly but surely on Rachel's door when she got home, and waited for the "come in" that would follow. It took a few seconds longer than usual, and Rachel's voice sounded weak, so when she entered the room, she did so as softly and unobtrusively as she could.<p>

Rachel didn't make eye contact as Quinn stood in front of her. "I'm not bothering you, am I?" she asked tentatively, fully prepared to excuse herself if it was a bad time.

Rachel shook her head softly and continued to stare blankly at the wall behind Quinn. "No. Stay," she said.

Rachel's words and her demeanor were at odds with each other, but Quinn thought it was probably better to go with what was being said directly, so with a deep breath she took a few steps forward and sat on the bed next to Rachel. "I'm sorry for last night," she said.

Rachel shook her head and looked down at her hands which, Quinn noticed, were picking at their own nails in an external display of discomfort. Quinn sighed and covered Rachel's hand with one of her own. "We didn't hug," she said. Rachel looked up at her in confusion, and it dawned on her how vague that statement must have sounded to someone who wasn't in her brain. "My family, I mean. Growing up. We didn't hug." Some of the confusion slipped from Rachel's face, but she waited patiently for the blonde to contextualize the revelation. "And I guess I've never really liked being touched before," she continued, her eyes narrowing in introspection, but her hand tightened around one of Rachel's when the brunette tried to pull away from her. "So I guess I was just a little bit unprepared for being comfortable with you."

Rachel smiled and tilted her head to look at Quinn. "I'm not mad at you."

Quinn found herself breathing a sigh of relief and felt tension she wasn't aware of carrying leave her shoulders. "So what's going on?"

Rachel turned one of her hands over underneath Quinn's and pressed their palms together. "My dads…" she started, her voice shaky and her eyes getting that distant look in them again. "There was a phone call."

Quinn furrowed her brow in concern. "Are they okay?" she asked. "I thought I just saw them downstairs," she remarked, gesturing toward the door.

"They're fine," Rachel said, and took a minute to try to figure out how to approach the topic. "A woman called them."

Quinn shook her head. "You're going to have to help me out, here, Rach. Why does a phone call have you acting like a zombie?"

Rachel sighed again – a sigh so large it heaved her shoulders – and the most profound look of confusion settled across her face. "I think I'm going to meet my mom."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** _So the Shelby storyline was the least thought out, and this was one of those situations where I got 1,000 words into the chapter before yelling, "This is all wrong!" Which means that I changed my mind about the direction I was taking this storyline in the big middle of writing it. This doesn't affect much in terms of the outcome of the narrative, but it could create a discrepancy in how the ending of the last chapter is read. I think what I have could still work, because it was all fairly vague, but we might have to adjust the way we read. Or not, since I have no idea how this is coming across to people who aren't me._

_I know that some of the interaction with Rachel and Quinn has been a little clinical, but it currently serves a purpose, and I'm hoping that once I'm done setting everything up (I know, I'm STILL in groundwork phase) that should dissipate. Or at least be less obvious._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 09**

It was a rough two weeks in the Berry house. Rachel continuously bounced from nervous excitement to downright withdrawn so many times a day that Quinn couldn't keep track, and Rachel was the easy one. She at least understood the brunette's mixed anticipation of meeting the woman that gave birth to her, so Rachel's mania wasn't completely unexpected. No, it was the Berry men who broke Quinn's heart.

They were good parents – she could recognize that. They put on a unified, supportive front while in Rachel's presence, but Quinn could feel an undercurrent of tension, suspicion, hurt, and, worst of all, anger. And while she didn't spend too much one on one time with Hiram, Leroy's jaw was almost perpetually clenched on their drive home from work every evening.

So on the night that Shelby was to come over for a "family dinner," as it were, Rachel was reminiscent of a bee on cocaine as she buzzed around the kitchen in her preparation, while Leroy silently seethed and Hiram sipped his wine. While she knew very little about the circumstances surrounding Rachel's conception and adoption, she was astute enough to gather that, to her fathers, at least, Rachel's mother had crossed some kind of parental line.

So when Rachel continuously moved around the table minutely adjusting the silverware in the minutes leading up to Shelby's arrival, Quinn had to do something. She met Rachel halfway around the table, intercepting her path and pulled the fork out of her hand. "Go sit down," she said, pointing to the couch in the den. "The table is fine."

Rachel reached defiantly for the fork in Quinn's hand, but Quinn used her height to her advantage and merely held the fork above her head. Rachel opened her mouth to protest but only managed an indignant squeak before the doorbell rang. Rachel stared at her like a deer trapped in headlights and, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be stuck. The Berry men weren't faring much better as Hiram poured himself another glass of wine and Leroy audibly swallowed.

"I'll get it," Quinn said brightly in a futile attempt to ease the tension in the house. She handed the fork back to Rachel, hoping to get her moving again and made her way to the front door. With a deep breath and what she hoped was a reassuring smile for Rachel's dads, she put on her best hostess smile and opened the door.

The woman on the other side recoiled slightly at Quinn's bright smile, and she pretended not to notice when the woman's eyes raked across her body and lingered on her baby bump. "You're not Rachel?" the woman asked skeptically.

Quinn's eyes widened in recognition and bit down on the realization that she was even a disappointment to strangers. "No, of course not," she said, her smile widening in overcompensation as she extended a hand in greeting. "I'm Quinn Fabray."

The older woman nodded slowly and shook Quinn's hand politely. "I'm Shelby Corcoran."

"Right," Quinn said, and stepped aside and making room for Shelby to enter the house. "Come on in."

Shelby moved politely past Quinn and into the house. "Hello Leroy, Hiram," she said, greeting the two men who had finally started moving toward the door. "It's nice to see you again."

"You, too," Hiram politely offered while his husband could only nod his head in greeting. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, nodding politely and Hiram turned toward the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he noticed Rachel standing in the doorway.

If she hadn't known better, Quinn would have sworn that time stopped in that moment. She watched as Hiram's gaze moved tentatively from his daughter to his clearly agitated husband. She watched the older woman's gaze move from Hiram to where Rachel was standing. And she watched something settle in Rachel as she took a few steps toward Shelby. There was recognition in her eyes, and she watched as the two shared a warm smile.

"And you're Rachel," Shelby said with a gentle certainty, and Quinn and the Berry men took that as their cue to give the two some privacy, exiting to the kitchen on the pretense of fulfilling that promised glass of wine.

"Breathe, honey," Hiram was saying to Leroy as he tipped the wine bottle into a fresh glass, turning around and handing it to his husband before getting another from the shelf.

"She should have said 'no,'" Leroy grumbled as he sipped his wine.

"I know," Hiram said, putting his hand on his husband's shoulder in solidarity. "But we always said…"

"I know," Leroy said, nodding and taking Hiram's hand in his and looking at him fondly. "We'd always give her the option."

Hiram nodded solemnly. "She's old enough to make her own decisions," he said. "Who knows? Maybe she'll hate her," he added hopefully

"Fat chance," Leroy said, laughing bitterly. "She's practically her clone. And when she finds out where she got her voice…?"

The two men sighed in resignation and silently comforted each other until Leroy remembered Quinn's presence. She was obviously outside of the situation and didn't want to interfere. She was just along for the ride. "Sorry for the display of family drama," Hiram said sheepishly.

Quinn shook her head and smiled, she hoped, reassuringly. "Not at all. This is nothing compared to Fabray drama," she explained and waved off their concerned and guilty expressions.

Leroy cleared his throat and stood up straighter. "Right," he said, taking the last glass from his husband and preparing Shelby's drink. "Shall we do this?" he asked, looking sportingly between his husband and Quinn.

Hiram smiled adoringly at him, and Quinn couldn't remember witnessing this kind of mutual marital support growing up. Her mother had always just fallen in line, and she and her sister had been expected to follow. But here was a family that treated their child as a fully formed person with thoughts and opinions, and neither of her fathers tried to control the other. And as she followed them back out to where Rachel and Shelby were meeting and then into the dining room for dinner, as much as she was happy for Rachel for getting to meet her mom, she couldn't help but hate Shelby just a little bit for what her presence was doing to Leroy and Hiram.

"So, Rachel, I hear you have the opening solo at regionals," Shelby said after everyone had settled down to their meal.

Quinn could feel Rachel's knee start to shake in excitement from her spot next to her and she had to stop herself from reaching under the table and physically stopping her. With the realization that being touched by Rachel didn't make her skin crawl, Quinn had come to notice an urge to touch the brunette. Rachel had been so manic the past two weeks that Quinn just wanted to grab onto her and hold her until she stilled.

Rachel nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. I will be performing the iconic 'Don't Rain on my Parade.'"

"That's a really hard piece," Shelby said, clearly impressed. "You must be very talented."

"She is," Hiram said quickly. "From the time she could make sounds."

"We very well may have the next big Broadway star among us right now," Leroy added, beaming.

"Daddy…"

Shelby smiled politely at Rachel. "That was my dream, too," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, and Quinn wished she hadn't noticed Leroy clench his jaw or Hiram take Leroy's hand. "Now I'm just a choir director in Columbus."

"I know it's very difficult to break into," Rachel said, looking down at her food.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Shelby said, reaching a hand over to Rachel's forearm. "I'm sure you'll be able to do what I couldn't."

Quinn watched Rachel's eyes light up as she smiled at the older woman, and wondered briefly why they didn't light up like that every time one of her fathers said the same thing. Was it the novelty? Had they just said it so often that it was expected? Or did it somehow hold more weight coming from someone Rachel shared genes with?

She hadn't realized she'd been spoken to until she noticed how silent the rest of the table had gotten. "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked the table at large, not quite sure who had spoken.

Shelby laughed softly to herself and smiled kindly at Quinn. "I asked – if you don't mind, that is, how far along are you?"

"Oh," Quinn said, self-consciously sitting up a little straighter. "Coming up on six months."

"Oh, is it a boy or a girl?"

Quinn looked away, and fumbled over her words; not expecting this particular line of questioning – or any line of questioning, for that matter; she thought this was supposed to be Rachel's night. "I actually don't know, yet. I was supposed to find out last time, but the baby was at a bad angle, or something," she explained. "Rachel's going to take me to my appointment next week, and we should find out then."

"You know," Shelby said, looking carefully between the two teenagers. "If you'd like, I could take you. It might help to be with someone who's been there," she said, before turning to Rachel. "And it'll give me a chance to spend more time with Rachel, of course."

Quinn could feel the discomfort radiating from the two men in the room, but she could also feel the hope pulsing from Rachel, and she didn't know if it was the generational connection or something entirely more intimate that made her affection for Rachel win out over her gratitude to her fathers, and she found herself nodding in acceptance. "Sure. That would be great," she said stiltedly, and proceeded to do her very best to be invisible for the rest of dinner.

* * *

><p>"So what's the story, here?" Quinn asked from where she was lying across Rachel's bed, propped against the headboard, and watching Rachel pace back and forth across her room, obviously unable to come down from the excitement of the evening.<p>

"What story?" Rachel asked, stopping just long enough to shoot Quinn a confused glance.

Quinn gestured vaguely with a wave of her hands. "You know, the whole mom thing. Why'd she give you up, anyway?"

Rachel furrowed her brow and tilted her head, stopping in her tracks. "It wasn't actually like that," she said, and moved to sit next to Quinn on the bed when she only got an arched eyebrow in response. "My dads wanted a baby, and obviously couldn't have one by themselves," she explained, shrugging. "So they decided to hire a surrogate. Shelby was that surrogate."

"Huh," Quinn said, processing that information. "So… she got pregnant knowing she was going to give you away?"

"Yeah," Rachel confirmed, nodding. "It had been well established that my fathers were going to be the parents and raise me; I'm pretty sure she was just in it for the money," she said, softly, looking down at the blanket spread across her bed.

"So then she's not really your mom," Quinn established bluntly, cringing at her own words when she saw Rachel flinch. "I'm sorry," she said, gentler. "I just meant in an emotional sense. It's not like she had dreams of you as family when she was pregnant with you. Your dads did."

"Yeah, that's true," Rachel conceded, and they were quiet for a few minutes as Rachel's nervous energy tried to bubble to the surface. Her eyes were wide when she finally looked at Quinn. "She looks like me, though," she said, her voice full of wonder. "And that voice."

"I thought you said you didn't feel like you were missing anything…?" Quinn questioned, careful to keep any accusatory tone out of her voice.

"I didn't," Rachel said, bringing her legs up on the bed and sitting cross-legged facing Quinn. "But that was also before I had a face and a voice to put to the idea. 'Mom' was just an abstract concept. But… she's a part of me."

"What about your biological father? I mean, it's Hiram, right?"

Rachel nodded again. "Yeah, they both tried to inseminate at the same time so that no one would ever know which one of them was my biological dad, but I think it's pretty safe to say it's Hiram at this point."

"Is it different with him?" Quinn asked. "I mean, he's technically just as much a part of you, isn't he?"

"Of course," Rachel said firmly. "And so is Daddy. You know I love my fathers."

"Yeah, you're even more like Leroy than Hiram, anyway," Quinn observed.

Rachel tilted her head in consideration. "I guess you're right about that," she said. "We both, after all, have an innate sense of right and wrong and a drive to see justice in the world. And we both understand the timelessness of argyle, even if our peers…"

"And you both talk a lot," Quinn said, nudging Rachel in the knee with her toe playfully. She straightened up as best she could and leaned toward the brunette. "So why now? Why at all?"

She watched as Rachel turned away guiltily. "Well, I've been seeing you struggle with the decision about what to do with your baby," she said. "And I know it's a completely different situation from yours, but I just… I guess I was curious?" Quinn sank back against the headboard and crossed her arms over her chest defensively, and Rachel was quick to explain. "I just hadn't bothered to think about it before. I didn't need to, obviously, because Dad and Daddy are great. But I do feel like I have some grounding now that I know where I came from. I don't want to say that I feel more whole – that wouldn't be the right word. But I do feel settled, I guess, now that I know who she is."

"So, I should keep it," Quinn concluded.

Rachel leaned forward and moved her hand across the bed, almost going for Quinn's hand, but she stopped short. "If that's what you want," she said.

"I want to do what's best for it," she said, locking eyes with Rachel. "I could be a good parent; I know that I don't have much, financially, to offer a child, but if it's true that you feel more settled knowing where you come from, then maybe financial stability comes second."

"It's not like you'd be alone, Quinn," Rachel said gently. "You'd have me, and you'd have my dads."

"I can't rely on you guys forever."

"Well," Rachel said, moving up the bed to sit next to Quinn. "Just know that you can, so that your decision is based on what you want, rather than circumstantial factors."

Quinn turned to Rachel and her eyes traveled along the girl's profile, and she felt the increasingly familiar itch in her fingertips as she kept herself from tracing Rachel's jawline. It would have been entirely too intimate.

"I think you'll know," Rachel said, when Quinn failed to speak for several minutes. "Whether it's tomorrow, or a week before the baby's born, or even when you're holding it. I think you'll just know. What you should do, I mean."

"Well… I'm ready for it to be now."

* * *

><p>Quinn tried to pay attention; she really did – she tried to care about all of the questions Shelby was asking the doctor about how the baby was doing, but really, after "everything's fine," Quinn mostly just blanked.<p>

A girl. She was having a girl – a daughter. The word felt foreign and clumsy in her mouth, but she stared at the image on the ultrasound and willed herself to know. She had hoped that once she knew the gender that she could start seeing the life growing inside her as a human instead of an "it," and while she supposed it was helpful to be able to comfortably call it "she," it did nothing to sway Quinn's decision.

Part of her had hoped to hear "boy" or "girl" and feel something snap inside of her, forever connecting her to the child her body was preparing to give birth to; she waited for visions of a laughing little girl skipping in fields that didn't exist, but they never came. But she also recognized, somewhere deep inside, a protective streak attached to that little girl she couldn't imagine so profound that it made her weak.

She didn't notice Shelby's gushing about how healthy the baby was as they drove back home, and she hadn't noticed how Rachel's own gushing had slowly subsided in its wake. And she certainly hadn't noticed how Rachel withdrew into herself and sat slumped in the backseat with her hands crossed over her chest during the entire ride. Not until they got home, anyway. As lost in thought as she was, it was pretty impossible to miss Rachel storming dramatically up the stairs without a word to anyone.

And she wanted to follow her, and talk to her, and make her tell Quinn what was wrong, but she was also annoyed that it was happening at all, especially since Quinn could find no reason for this particular outburst. So she decided to wait – Rachel would sometimes come around on her own, anyway; and she figured that if it was really important, she'd find out soon enough.

For now, she just wanted a nap.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes:** _So I've gotten some… interesting readings on where people think Quinn's head's at in regards to the whole baby / Shelby situation. This is probably my fault – in my attempt to articulate complicated confliction, it is possible that I went too far in the wrong direction. While remaining loyal to Rachel and her fathers, and feeling protective of the child all certainly factor in, they are not the sole things Quinn has to consider, most of which I'm hoping to bring to light here. However, one of you DID manage to call me out on exactly the kind of headcanon I'm using before I even get there, so... kudos. As mentioned previously, the Shelby storyline is, admittedly, the least thought-out arc in this fic, and it appears to be continuously subject to change (I originally planned Shelby as much more manipulative than she is) which might also explain why it's coming across disjointed. It'll be over soon, though, so if you can just hang with me for another chapter or two, then we can move right the hell along into more important things (like Faberry)._

_Thank you all for your thoughts (lol, all four of you). They serve to keep my ass on track if nothing else._

_Also, I've worked a writing schedule into my study schedule, and it appears to be beneficial to both ventures. Go figure._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 10**

Quinn didn't bother knocking. Rachel's cold shoulder had been going on all week, and Quinn was tired of it. It was true that they didn't fight much, but since they were two teenagers who grew up differently from each other, with all of their teenage hormones – one of who had even more hormones to deal with than the other, so they were bound to fight occasionally, and they certainly did. But the tension never carried on this long, and one of them was always quick to see and admit fault when it was necessary.

This? This was unnecessary. Quinn couldn't even figure out what was wrong. "Okay, what did I do?" she asked, pushing through Rachel's door and standing over the girl.

"Sure, Quinn, come on in," she replied from where she was lying on her stomach across her bed, book in hand.

Quinn sighed and dropped her arms uselessly by her sides, and her voice lost some of its defensiveness. "Why are you avoiding me?"

She saw Rachel's shoulders drop and it was fairly easy to imagine her rolling her eyes as she shut the book and turned to look at the blonde. "Why is everything about you?"

Quinn found herself physically withdrawing from the question, and furrowed her brow in both confusion and concern. "What are you talking about?" she asked quietly. "I'm trying to find out what's wrong with you."

"Right, because it's interfering with your life," Rachel said before standing up; she was in front of Quinn in three steps. "Seriously, why does everything revolve around you?"

Quinn blinked in confusion and found herself attempting to swallow her own tension. And it took everything she had not to reach out and shake the girl in front of her out of whatever crisis she had managed to think herself into. "What exactly are you talking about? What is about me?"

"Why does my mom seem more interested in you than she does me?" Rachel asked instead of answering her question, though Quinn supposed it was answer enough.

"What?"

Rachel crossed her arms and tore her gaze away from Quinn, pacing around the room. "You know, I thought offering to take you to the doctor was just a convenient excuse to spend more time with me, but now I'm starting to think that I was just a convenient excuse to spend more time with you."

Quinn bit back the groan that Rachel's false logic elicited. "Rachel, listen to me," she said, and waited for the shorter girl to stop her enraged pacing. When she didn't, Quinn actually did stand in front of her and physically stop her by placing her hands on her shoulders. "I didn't do that," she said as calmly as she could.

"I know that in my logic brain," Rachel said with an indignant stomp of her foot. "But my non-logic brain won't let me be mad at my mom who I've just met."

"So it's easier to be mad at me?" Quinn asked, dropping her hands back to her sides.

"Not exactly," Rachel admitted, looking down at her shoes.

"Okay," Quinn said, looking at the ceiling and composing herself before taking Rachel by the hand and leading her to sit on the bed. "So if there's nothing to fix, can we just move on?"

"Yeah, I guess," Rachel said, and she sounded small. "I just wish I knew why," she explained.

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she's trying to get brownie points with you – in like, the most convoluted way possible," she suggested.

Rachel looked up at her with an amused yet skeptical expression. "How do you figure?"

Quinn shrugged vaguely. "I don't know, maybe she just thinks she can offer me a different kind of support than you or your dads can. I mean, she's actually been pregnant."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"Well, I'm your friend. Why shouldn't she help your friend?"

"You're just trying to make me feel better, aren't you?" Rachel asked, after she had considered the option for a few minutes.

"Yeah," Quinn admitted, smiling sadly at her.

But Rachel just met her smile and raised her a bigger one. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>It was one of those rare days when Quinn had the house to herself. Rachel and her dads were out shopping, or some other banal errand, and Quinn didn't quite know what to do with herself. The quiet was nice – she managed to get caught up on her schoolwork – but it was when she was alone in the house that was decidedly not hers that she felt out of place; ingrown, almost. It was a nice day, though, so she thought she might feel better outside. It was just starting to warm up – the snow was melting, but it was still crisp enough to keep her overheated body comfortable. She was glad she wouldn't have to deal with being pregnant in the summer.<p>

She had been resting – that's what she called napping when she didn't want to call it napping – on one of the outdoor loungers for an hour or so when she heard the tires crunch onto the driveway. She opened an eye against the sun and watched Shelby step delicately out of her car and approach the blonde.

"Hi," Shelby greeted with a warm smile.

"Hi," Quinn answered. "Rachel's not here right now, she and her dads…"

"I'm actually here to talk to you," Shelby said, holding up a hand in interruption.

"Oh, okay," Quinn said hesitantly, but sitting up in a display of attention and motioning for Shelby to take the seat next to her. "How can I help you?"

Quinn watched Shelby study her with narrow eyes in a similar way she'd seen Rachel do in the past. "I don't mean to pry or overstep my bounds, and if I am, tell me to beat it," she started, attempting to lighten the mood – it didn't work. "But have you thought about what you're going to do once the baby's here?"

Quinn sighed and tried not to show her defensiveness at the question. "I have," she said, because it was true. "I just haven't made a decision."

Shelby studied her for a minute more before she went on. "You know, my mother likes to tell me the story of when she found out she was pregnant with me," she started, looking across the lawn towards the street. "She said that as soon as she found out, she knew I was a girl and she knew my name was Shelby." Quinn wasn't sure what to do with that story, so she waited for the older woman to continue. "I never experienced that when I was pregnant with Rachel," she continued, eyebrows scrunching in memory. "But I do remember calling up Leroy and telling him the good news that the insemination had been successful. And he said that it was a girl. And in the background, I heard Hiram say that they were having a girl named Rachel." She paused for a long time, and Quinn thought she was supposed to say something. But really, what was she supposed to say about that? That's a nice story? So when she said nothing, Shelby spoke again. "Is it like that with you?"

Quinn wished she was nimble enough to curl into herself, but crossing her arms over her chest and leaning as far away from Shelby was the best she could do. "No," she admitted finally. "I sometimes forget that she's even real."

Shelby nodded in understanding. "That's the way I was," she explained. "When I was carrying Rachel. It was like at times I forgot I was even pregnant at all. I couldn't feel her, you know?" Quinn nodded, because yes, she did know. She thought that maybe that parent / child connection would come eventually, maybe even once she had been born, but if what Shelby was saying was true – if Leroy and Hiram knew who Rachel was before Shelby even did, then maybe that meant something. "But you want to know something?" Shelby continued when Quinn didn't speak, leaning toward her as though she were about to share a secret. "When I knocked on the door here and you answered, I took one look at you and thought, 'She's carrying my daughter – and her name is Beth.'"

Quinn released a shaky breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. "Please don't ask what I think you're asking."

"And what is that?"

"I think you're asking to adopt my baby," she said, barely able to look at the older woman.

"Why would that be a problem?"

It seemed like such a ridiculous question. Why would Rachel's mother adopting Quinn's baby be a problem? What about Rachel? How would Rachel feel? Come to think of it, she actually didn't know. But she did know she hadn't reacted well to Shelby's interest in Quinn, and that was probably a clear enough indicator that she would be decidedly against it. "What about Rachel?"

"What about Rachel?" Shelby repeated, indicating she saw no reason why Rachel should be considered in the decision at all, and Quinn had to swallow her anger.

"I'm just not sure how she'd feel about me giving my child to a mother that doesn't seem interested in her own kid," she said, and only realized how acerbic it sounded after the words had already left her mouth.

Shelby recoiled from the verbal assault but hid it behind a well-executed position shift in her chair. "Quinn, I was never Rachel's mother. And I'm still not."

"So then why meet her at all?"

"I didn't want to," she said, as though she were stating something as simple as two plus two being four, and Quinn couldn't be bothered to even try to hide the horror that spread across her face. "Don't look at me like I'm a monster," Shelby pleaded. "From the word 'go,' I understood that Rachel was not my child; she's theirs," she explained, motioning towards the house. "So I've never had the urge or desire to know her, but," she said, raising a hand to stop whatever protest was on Quinn's lips. "She wanted to meet me. And that wasn't about me. That was about her. And yes, maybe I can have a relationship with her. But I'm not her parent. I never was and I never will be."

"Beth, huh?" Quinn asked tentatively as she thought about what Shelby was actually telling her. She agreed whole-heartedly that Rachel's parents were Leroy and Hiram – not Shelby. And her own family had certainly showed her that swimming in the same gene pool didn't necessarily demand any kind of loyalty, but she also thought about what Rachel had said about feeling more grounded knowing more about where she came from. What had she called Shelby – a piece of her? And if Shelby was a piece of Rachel, then was this baby a piece of Quinn? What would giving her to Shelby mean for either of them?

She allowed herself a moment of selfishness, to think about what Shelby was offering her. How much easier would her life be without a child to care for? She would have time to actually excel in college, instead of scrape by, and that's if she would even be able to go in the first place. She knew it was going to be hard enough to pay for without her parents' assistance, and the added financial and time strain a child would put on her made the path to a degree feel insurmountable. And if she was being completely honest with herself

And then she thought about her hypothetical child, who, to be completely honest, probably shouldn't still be feeling hypothetical. Quinn was frustrated that she couldn't see her in her mind, but even more frustrated by the fact that said frustration was mild at best and that she mostly just didn't care. If what Shelby was telling her was true – if even Rachel's dads recognized her as their own in somebody else's womb – then whomever Quinn was carrying wasn't… hers. But Shelby recognized her, and didn't her child deserve to have a mother who genuinely wanted her? Wasn't that more important than genetic ties? Hadn't Leroy proven that time and time again?

And then she was nodding, inexplicably agreeing to hand over her child – she still couldn't say 'daughter' in any meaningful way – to the woman who had helped give life to one of her favorite people. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that Rachel probably wasn't going to appreciate this development – she had seemed strangely open to the idea of a baby around the house as of late, but she also figured she'd eventually come around and understand why Quinn was making this decision.

And at the end of the day, if a part of her could be raised by a part of Rachel, then she could believe there was some kind of order in the world. It meant that no matter where she or Rachel went, somewhere, somehow, the two would always be connected, even if in the most indirect of ways. There was something that felt right about that.

She just wasn't looking forward to the initial explosion that she was almost certain would come when she told Rachel.

* * *

><p>Rachel's mood hadn't really improved much since their talk, despite it already having been established that Quinn didn't actually do anything wrong. It's not like she had intentionally drawn Shelby's attention away from the singer, after all, but Quinn also understood that this fact didn't necessarily make it any easier for Rachel.<p>

Which was why she had to time this conversation carefully.

It came on a Friday night, after a particularly successful movie night in which Quinn had let Rachel choose the film, and she had graciously sung the male parts to Rachel's lead soprano. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, angled towards each other, half supported by the arm rests and the back cushions, and coming down from their giggle fest at Rachel's overzealous performance.

"So I have something to tell you," Quinn said as she finally came down from her laughter induced high. Rachel leaned forward with interest filled eyes, but otherwise didn't speak, waiting patiently for Quinn to tell her whatever it was. "I've decided what to do about the baby," she said finally, looking away from Rachel.

Rachel didn't seem to notice Quinn's shift into discomfort, and if she did, she didn't let on. "Oh?" she asked, and her voice held the same expectant excitement that her face had seconds before.

"I think – I mean," she paused and collected her thoughts, making the decision that this statement had to be as firm as possible. "I'm giving the baby to Shelby," she said.

It was as though she could visibly see Rachel shut down. Where her leg had been stretched across the couch toward Quinn with her arm mirroring this across the back of the couch, she now drew her limbs closer to her in an obvious cry of self-defense. "Why would you do that?"

Quinn thought of the myriad ways she could approach this question, and she realized she probably should have prepared for it ahead of time, because the particular angle she chose to take really determined how Rachel would accept this news. "You know how you said that I should keep the baby if I wanted?" She waited for Rachel's inevitable nod. "Well… I don't want to. I just… I don't feel connected to her the way that I'm supposed to," she explained, hoping it would be adequate.

Rachel sighed from across the couch. "Okay. I get that, I guess," she said. "I mean, I'm not sure what connection you're talking about, but I've never been pregnant, so there might just be something I'm missing," she said, clearly thinking herself in circles out loud. "But that still doesn't explain why you'd give her to my mom," she pointed out. "I mean, what, was she just using me to get her hands on a baby?"

Quinn found herself inexplicably flinching at the accusation, despite the fact that it wasn't even directed at her. "Come on, Rach, you know that's not fair," she said as gently as she could. "You were the one who sought out Shelby, not the other way around. I just happened to be there."

Rachel's shoulder slumped in defeat, and Quinn wished she could take back what she'd said, despite its truth. "I know, you're right," she admitted, pressing the palms of her hands to her cheeks in her in her attempt to calm down. "But I can't help how jealous I feel. I thought… I don't know, when I saw her and when I heard her sing, I thought she'd be as impressed with me as I am with her…"

"She is," Quinn tried to explain.

"So when she focused in on you," she continued, as though Quinn hadn't spoken, "it hurt. And now she wants to play mom to your kid?"

"That's just it, though, Rachel," Quinn said, locking her hazel eyes with brown and hoping she'd be understood. "I don't have a kid. I don't feel this baby," she admitted softly. "Not the way a parent does. She doesn't belong to me," she tried to explain, echoing Shelby's words.

"How can you say that?" Rachel said, trying valiantly to hide the horror in her voice – Quinn heard it, though.

This was the part she was hoping to avoid. She didn't want to be the one to tell Rachel that her mother didn't see her as her daughter. She didn't want her to know that at all, but she was probably bound to find out at some point in all of this. Still, she wasn't going to be the one to do it. She had to come up with a different angle. "Have you ever thought," she started hesitantly, "that, I don't know, the things we've been taught to think about mothers might not be as… natural as they're made out to be?"

Rachel furrowed her brow in indignation. "I'm sorry, are you accusing me of falling victim to the status quo?" she asked before releasing a short bark of bitter laughter. "You, of all people?"

"Okay, you know what," Quinn said, letting her own agitation take over the situation. It was absolutely absurd in this moment that Rachel had ever accused Quinn of making everything about herself. Rachel was about as self-absorbed as it comes. "I made the best decision I could for my baby," she said, attempting to appeal to Rachel's apparent sense of maternal duties. "Shelby could offer her more than I ever could, and if you're mad that I didn't take your feelings into account when I decided what was best for my baby, then I've seriously misjudged the kind of person you are."

Rachel opened and closed her mouth a few times, her jaw working silently as she tried to come up with an adequate retort to Quinn's sudden abrasiveness. Instead, she stood up from the couch and left, stalking up the stairs, and a few seconds later, Quinn heard her bedroom door shut.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** _I originally had a novel of an author's note detailing the ways that some of the ideas about motherhood that have been floating around are particularly misogynistic and that a certain commentary that I'm attempting to make about biology is going completely unnoticed, but I decided instead to just remind you of two things._

_1. What you have read and what you have access to is only a small part of a much larger whole._

_2. This entire fic is a response to the question, "How could somebody like Quinn Fabray suffer from gender dysphoria?"_

_I kindly ask that you keep those things in the back of your head while reading, as well as the fact that I'm still just setting up the story I actually want to tell._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 11**

Mostly they just didn't talk about it. They were civil with each other – friendly even – unless the impending adoption was brought up, and while it wasn't ideal, it was a situation Quinn could deal with. She had gotten plenty of practice pretending problems didn't exist growing up, after all. But by the time May rolled around, Quinn was so physically uncomfortable that she'd snap at the drop of a hat, and Rachel was high strung about her upcoming glee competition.

Quinn wiped the sweat from her forehead that had miraculously managed to accumulate from her simple trip across the parking lot as she followed Leroy, Hiram, and Shelby into the auditorium where Rachel's performance was being held. She had heard Rachel sing countless times, but despite the throbbing in her lower back, Quinn was excited for the chance to see her actually perform. She always got the idea that Rachel held just a little bit back for rehearsal.

She eyed the tiny fold out auditorium chair like it was a death trap; it practically was, and looked around the crowd milling about the theater. "I think I'm going to go find Rachel before the show starts," she said to the three adults, who smiled and wished her luck.

There were ushers guarding the doors to the backstage areas, but she conveniently waited for one of them to be distracted by a crying toddler who had managed to ram their head into the side of the stage, and slipped quietly backstage, attempting to blend in with the various students wandering about in various stages of dress. She caught sight of the pink tuxedo shirts (seriously?) that she knew Rachel's group were in for the first number and headed in that direction.

"Quinn?" she heard Rachel's voice before she saw her bounding up to her from somewhere to her left, where there was a giant mass of pink tuxedo shirts. "What are you doing here?" she asked, clearly surprised to see the blonde, but wearing a smile so wide it spread to Quinn's face.

"I came to wish you luck, of course," Quinn said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Rachel's smile dropped in size, but not in warmth. "Thank you," she said with a sparkle in her eye that Quinn had only seen a few times. "Come on," she said, shifting out of their moment. "Meet the rest of the glee club."

"Wait," she said, reaching out and grasping Rachel's wrist to keep her from moving from their spot. "Shelby's here," she informed her.

Quinn couldn't be sure, but it looked like Rachel was trying to be bothered by that and totally failing. "Why?" she asked tentatively.

Quinn shrugged. "I actually do think she wants to support you," she said. "Just maybe not how you had hoped."

She watched Rachel take a sharp breath through her nose and straighten her posture, clearly brushing off the news of Shelby's presence and forcing herself into professionally performance mode. Quinn had seen it many times. "So would you like to meet my teammates?"

"Sure," Quinn said, smiling and taking Rachel's hand absentmindedly as the shorter girl led her over to the swarm of pink tuxedo shirts. "You already know Kurt, and Mercedes, and Tina," she said, pointing to each in turn. "But you don't know Artie, or Lauren," she continued pointing to two people she had never met before. "And that over there is Blaine," she said, pointing to a guy who was attempting to stare at Kurt covertly but was doing an awful job of it. "And Becky and Sunshine should be around here somewhere," she said, looking around but coming up empty, then shrugging.

"Hi everyone," she said, waving a little awkwardly in response to their mumbled "hellos" and "nice to meet yous." "So you guys are on second?" she asked, turning to Rachel as the rest of the group went about their business.

"Yes," Rachel confirmed, and Quinn could practically feel her vibrate with excitement. "I'm glad you're here," she added.

"Yeah, me too," Quinn said, and the two smiled goofily at each other until Quinn realized she should get back to her seat so that she could actually watch the show. "Good luck," she said with a final squeeze to Rachel's hands before she maneuvered her way back to the house and found her seat next to Leroy.

"Was she completely insufferable?" Leroy asked, leaning over as though the two were sharing a secret.

"No, she's already moved into calm professionalism," she said.

"Well, that's quicker than usual," he answered, smiling, and then the lights went out and the first glee club took the stage.

They were okay. Quinn found herself tapping her foot along with the music, but she was mostly just annoyed that she had to sit through their mediocrity before she got to hear Rachel, and even though three songs doesn't sound like a long time, it felt like an eternity to the blonde.

So she was both tense and excited as the darkness enveloped them as the troupe left the stage and minutes later the double doors behind her were flung open and Rachel's voice filled the hall. Quinn turned around as best she could – feeling like she was dislocating her neck in the process – so that she could watch the brunette move down the aisle toward the stage. She was vaguely aware that all other movement in the room had stopped, but she was mostly focused on the subtle way that Rachel's smile widened when their eyes met as she passed. Quinn had always known that Rachel's voice was something special – known from the first time she heard it through steel and concrete in an abandoned hallway. But there was something different about getting to see the product of hours of hard work and dedication, and as Rachel drew their attention to the stage where the rest of her group waited, she felt the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end in response to the way Rachel's voice affected her.

For just a second, she thought she had wet herself when she tried to stand with the rest of the audience in a standing ovation as Rachel finished her solo and fell in line with the rest of the choir, until she realized that no, her water just broke.

She grabbed onto Leroy's arm as he turned toward her in concern, and she heard him tell his husband to get Rachel after the performance before he was ushering her out of the auditorium and out of the building and they were speeding away toward the nearest hospital. "It's early," she said, realizing that her due date wasn't for another two weeks.

"Not early enough to cause worry," he reassured her, and she focused on breathing, realizing after a few moments that the sense of urgency that she had rushed out of the theater with had vanished. It didn't seem like anything was happening; she was just uncomfortably wet, and she was glad she'd be able to get out of her ruined clothes soon as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

But it was all very slow. There was no nurse waiting just inside the door with a wheelchair for her to fall into, and she stood awkwardly next to Leroy as he explained the situation to the receptionist. She didn't have to sit down until she felt the onset of her first contraction. She had been getting Braxton Hicks contractions for the past week or so, and was prepared for a wave of cramping, but this was worse than she was prepared for, and Leroy was there next to her with her hand in his as she almost broke his fingers when she grit her teeth and bore down.

She didn't know how long she waited before she was moved into a room away from prying eyes, but she was pretty sure it wasn't long after that Leroy's hand was replaced by Rachel's in her own as the cramps in her stomach intensified to sharp ripping that made her feel like she was being torn in two. She noted vaguely that it was dark outside of her window, and she wondered how five hours could have passed.

And just when it seemed like time was moving at hyper speed, it seemed to stop altogether. All that existed was her body and the increasingly unbearable contractions. She didn't realize she was crying until she noticed how wet her face was, and it was all she could do to focus on living through each wave of pain. She really wished that whoever was screaming would stop, but then her throat was sore and it was over. She felt her body go limp, and minutes later there was a tiny person being laid across her chest.

"She looks like Puck," she noted hoarsely as she brought her arms up weakly to cradle the infant.

"But she has your eyes," Rachel pointed out, and Quinn nodded absently.

It was hard to say exactly what she was feeling as she looked down at the life that had come out of her. She had been half-expecting a rush of love to overwhelm her as she looked into those sleepy hazel eyes, but it never came. There was undeniable fondness, yes, but it was like what she felt for her cousins that she rarely saw. There was familiarity, but no intimacy, and when Shelby finally entered the room and started to cry at the sight of her, Quinn was pretty sure she made the right decision.

Rachel moved awkwardly away from Quinn's side as the older woman moved to take her place, leaning over the blonde and the child. "She's beautiful," she told Quinn, though her eyes remained fixed on the child she was holding.

"Yeah," Quinn said before leaning down and placing a small kiss to the infant's head and adjusting her hold in preparation of handing her to Shelby.

"I promise I'll take good care of her," Shelby said as she held her daughter for the first time.

"I know you will," Quinn said, her eyes never leaving the bundle of blankets being cradled in the other woman's arms as she turned to leave.

"I'll be right back," she heard Rachel say before scurrying after Shelby.

And just like that, an overwhelming exhaustion overtook her. She slumped down into the pillows beneath her and closed her eyes, only vaguely aware of Rachel's and Shelby's voices out in the hall. She thought she heard Shelby compliment Rachel on her performance, but she wasn't sure what the brunette's response was. It didn't matter. Not really. And then Rachel was back by her side.

Quinn rolled her head in the general direction she believed Rachel to be before sleepily blinking her eyes open. "Look, about Shelby," she started, but Rachel grabbed her hands and squeezed, signaling Quinn to stop talking.

"It doesn't matter," she said, shaking her head. "Not right now; you have to be exhausted. You should get some rest."

Quinn found her eyes closing before Rachel was even finished talking and she nodded slowly in agreement, but when she felt Rachel start to move away from her side they snapped back open, and the hand that was only loosely holding Rachel's tightened and pulled the shorter girl back toward her. "Wait," she said, continuing to pull Rachel until she was as close to the bed as she could get. "Stay," she said, shifting as far to the side of the bed as she could get, continuing to tug on Rachel's hand until the girl was in bed with her. Without thinking, Quinn slipped her arm around the brunette's shoulder and rested her cheek against the top of her head, and Rachel's arm moved hesitatingly around Quinn's torso. "You smell good," she commented as traces of Rachel's shampoo invaded her senses as she drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Epic Author's Note is Epic:** _I'd do this in private, but you guys keep reviewing without signing in, so I have to do this in public. To reviewer_ **Katy** _– I'm sorry this fic leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but your lack of analytical reading skills is 'kinda ridiculous.' The only reason Quinn considered keeping the baby was because she was being fed maternal ideology by Rachel's experience, not through any love she felt for a child conceived through rape (seriously, you're gross). Shelby's actually not supposed to be a monster – the notion that she should feel maternal towards Rachel just because she carried her is absolutely misogynistic and gross – though I'll concede that she was written sloppily and comes off as creepy. And that's fine, because how you feel about Shelby is completely inconsequential to the course of the narrative, which, if you'll remember, is dealing with Quinn's impending gender transition. You were right about one thing, though; it WAS just a way to get rid of the baby, because the baby wasn't important – the pregnancy was (for what really should be obvious reasons by now). Way to miss the point entirely._

_Here are some general tips for active reading: Unreliable narrators are a thing! I utilize one here. I also utilize the third person as a way of creating further distance between Quinn and the audience. Always remember that what is not there is just as important as what is there, and always consider the multiplicity of language and extended meanings of words._

_And most importantly, gender, queer, and feminist theory majorly influence the messages being articulated, and you should probably at least be a little familiar with feminist rhetoric surrounding maternity and biology._

Oh, I'm sorry. You just wanted to relax and read a nice fic? You didn't want to enter into a gender studies class? You're reading the wrong fic. Go read something written by someone who's NOT an educator with extensive knowledge in literary theory (seriously, you won't hurt my feelings – there are definitely more palatable and less challenging fics out there, and some of them are even written well). My writing, however, requires you to put in a little work, and I'm not going to apologize for that.

_Now let's stop focusing on the parts that don't even matter and get to the Faberry (which is what you're all here for, anyway)._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 12**

There had been a few times in her life when all she wanted were her pajamas and a warm bed – the day she got kicked out of her home, for instance – but even that paled in comparison to the pure bliss that came when she finally fell into what she now considered her bed in her room in the Berry home. Rachel was buzzing around her, making sure she had everything she needed, bringing her extra pillows and blankets, and disappearing long enough to come back with a glass of water and a snack, and was about to leave in search of some other thing Quinn was fairly certain she didn't need right at that moment. "Hey," she said, smiling when Rachel stopped mid-step and turned to her awkwardly. "Come here," she added, patting the bed next to her and holding out a hand for Rachel to take.

She watched Rachel pull her bottom lip between her teeth and cross one arm over her torso to wrap her fingers around her opposite bicep, moving tentatively toward the bed. When Rachel approached close enough for Quinn to reach her, she found herself tangling her fingers with Rachel's as she pulled the smaller girl into bed with her.

Rachel stared at her through her eyelashes from where they lied next to each other, one of Quinn's arms wrapped under her body and around her shoulders while the other was draped loosely over her side. "This is nice," she said, as she settled into Quinn's hold, and Quinn discovered that Rachel's head fit perfectly in the crook of her own neck.

She nodded, resting her chin on the top of Rachel's head. "Nap with me," she said, giving Rachel a quick squeeze at the nod she got in response.

She should have been more concerned at the warmth that flowed through her body as she held Rachel against her. If she had bothered to examine it, she would have considered it strange and foreign; but the overwhelming sense of 'okay' overrode all logical examination. Instead, she just found herself trailing her fingertips along the small sliver of skin she found between Rachel's jeans and shirt, and she was struck by how much she didn't want to run when Rachel shifted and wrapped her own arm around Quinn's body.

"You know it wasn't about you, right?" she asked, her voice muffled by Rachel's hair when she burrowed her face into it.

She felt Rachel tense for just a second before relaxing and Quinn became aware of small patterns being traced along her back. "Yeah," she said heavily, her voice thick. "It doesn't make it easier. But I know."

Quinn honestly didn't know what she would have done if Shelby hadn't come along. It was true that she hadn't let herself dwell on the ultimate consequences of her pregnancy, and when Shelby appeared, offering her the answer, she had jumped at it. And for better or worse, it almost guaranteed a continued relationship between the two vocalists. Shelby had insisted on an open adoption because she understood what meeting her had meant to Rachel, and she wanted to keep that option open for her own daughter. Quinn was a little anxious about the idea of having a relationship with the child, but there was no way of knowing if she'd continue to feel that way as time went on. "I'm sorry," she said, because she thought she was supposed to, and she was pretty sure Rachel could sense its emptiness, but she felt Rachel nuzzle her neck in an impossible attempt to get closer, so she decided to just stop talking altogether and allow herself the comfort that accompanied holding Rachel.

* * *

><p>It happened on a Sunday – Quinn figured church had probably just finished – about a week after she had returned from the hospital. She heard the doorbell ring and heard one of Rachel's dads answer it – Hiram, she was pretty sure, and made her way downstairs to investigate. She was healing quickly, even if she was still moving a little slowly.<p>

She stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, locking eyes with her mother who stopped speaking with Hiram mid-sentence when she caught sight of her daughter.

"Dad, who's there?" Rachel asked, descending down the stairs after Quinn and stopping a few steps before she reached the bottom, looking carefully between the two blondes in the entryway.

"What's going on here?" Leroy asked as he, too, made his entrance from the office and standing next to his husband, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking politely at his guest.

"What are you doing here, Mom?" Quinn asked, stepping forward and tilting her chin up in a show of confidence. She was vaguely aware of Rachel descending the rest of the steps and standing behind her.

Judy, however, was focused on the two men in the room, particularly on the intimate way they stood with each other, and Quinn saw her lips purse in judgment. "I've come to take you home," she said, and Quinn noticed her mother inch away from the men in the room, and for every shuffle she took away from them, Quinn moved closer. "Now that the bastard's gone, your father is willing to try to sweep this under the rug."

Quinn had never been punched before, but she was pretty sure it felt a lot like this. She felt the wind rush out of her at her mother's words. "Sweep it under the rug?" she asked incredulously. "It was a baby!" She felt Rachel's hand slip into hers and she laced their fingers together instinctively.

Judy rolled her eyes and waved Quinn's outburst away. "Now, Quinn, there's no need to be dramatic."

Quinn sighed, instinctively attempting to calm herself down at the accusation of dramatics – a relic of defense from her childhood; one that she hadn't needed since her father kicked her out, but Leroy picked up where she fumbled. "I don't think she's the one that's being dramatic, here," he argued.

She watched as her mother stared down her nose at the two men, recoiling ever so slightly away from them. "And who, might I ask, are you?"

While Quinn found it easy to slip back into submission around either of her parents, but the two men were not so easily controlled. "Oh, we're the men who stepped up to take care of your daughter when you decided she was no longer worth your time," Hiram said cattily, and while Quinn knew that what he said was true, it did nothing to soothe the stab of pain at the description, and she felt Rachel's hand tighten around hers as she stepped imperceptibly closer to the blonde.

"That'll be enough from the fairy brigade," Judy said coolly, still looking down her nose in that slightly disgusted way she had.

And Quinn found her backbone again. "Don't you dare talk to them that way," she said, pulling her mother's attention to her and Rachel next to her.

She saw her mother's gaze travel down her arm to where her hand was linked with Rachel's and she fought the instinct to drop it upon being discovered. "It's contagious, I see," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" she heard Rachel say next to her, but she pulled her back with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

Judy continued as though she had neither heard nor seen the shorter girl. "You know, we really did try our best. We saw the… difference in you from such a young age, but we tried to steer you in the right direction," she said, and Quinn found her eyes narrowing in a strange combination of confusion and hatred. "But if these are the kinds of decisions you make on your own, then I'm afraid you're a lost cause."

"I think it's time for you to leave," Leroy said calmly but forcefully as Quinn swallowed around the lump in her throat. She didn't hear what her mother said as she turned and made her way up the stairs – something about her soul, but shortly after the door closed behind her in her room, she heard the telltale sound of an engine roaring to life and a car leaving the drive and she knew her mother was gone.

She felt uncomfortable in her own skin, as though she were too much for her physical body to contain, and she crossed her arms across her chest and gripped her own biceps in an attempt to stamp down on the sensation of overflowing. What had her mother even meant? Her parents had tried to direct her in the right direction? As though she had been going down the wrong one? Her difference? She had only been holding Rachel's hand. Girl friends did that, right? Or girlfriends?

Did her parents think she was gay? Had they thought she was gay for years?

But she wasn't gay.

But she liked Rachel.

But she wasn't gay.

And then her fist connected with the doorframe of the closet, and she winced as a stabbing pain shot through her forearm.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, cautiously entering the room until she saw the blonde remove her fist from the now dented doorframe, and strode purposefully across the room to take Quinn's hand in hers and inspect the damage she had managed to do to herself.

"I wish you wouldn't hit things," Rachel said softly, mostly to herself as her fingertips brushed along the rapidly bruising knuckles on Quinn's hand. "I don't think anything's broken," she affirmed after a few minutes.

"Why did she come here?" Quinn asked, her eyes narrowing, and her voice coming out as a harsh whisper.

"I don't know, Quinn," she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I really wish she hadn't," she added before taking a step away, stretching her arm behind her in an effort to maintain contact with Quinn as long as possible. "I'll go get some ice for your hand."

"No, wait," Quinn said and tightened her hold on Rachel's hand and tugged backward, bring the girl back toward her, closer this time, and Quinn reached a hand out to rest on her hip to steady her as the two practically collided. "Stay," she said, and before she could register her own actions, she had Rachel pressed against the wall next to the closet, and she took the hand that held the brunettes and placed it on her own shoulder, encouraging Rachel to drape it around her neck before placing her now free hand against the side of the singer's neck. She leaned forward and hesitated only slightly, hazel eyes searching brown, and when Rachel nodded her head ever so slightly, Quinn did the unthinkable.

Warm. Warm and soft were the first things she registered as she kissed Rachel, moving her mouth searchingly but confidently against hers. There was something undeniably right about the way she was holding the shorter girl, and the way her fingers got lost in thick brown locks as her hands moved to cradle Rachel's head as the singer opened her mouth against her own. And then warm gave way to hot as she became aware of the way Rachel's fingers clutched at the collar of her shirt, pulling her closer, and one of Quinn's hands slipped from Rachel's hair so that her arm could wrap itself around her waist between Rachel and the wall, pulling their bodies flush together, and when Quinn tentatively flicked her tongue against Rachel's bottom lip, the shock that travelled through her when Rachel moaned into her mouth made her forget how to breathe.

She finally pulled her mouth away from Rachel's only to tighten her hold on the shorter girl, resting her forehead against the wall as her lungs tried to catch up with what had just happened along with her brain.

And then she became aware of Rachel's shakes of silent laughter next to her and she pulled back far enough to look her questioningly in the eye.

Rachel only smiled knowingly up at her, wrapping her arms loosely around the blonde's neck and letting her fingers play with the fine hairs at the base of her neck. "Well, it is about time."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes:** _To reviewer Katy – I'm just going to boil this down to a few things. You don't have to be here. If you don't like the direction that I'm taking this, you can go elsewhere. Leaving the same review three chapters in a row because I have offended your sensibilities is overkill, and there's a difference between constructive criticism and complaining about the same thing over and over again. Also, I see that you continue to post anonymously – I really do engage with reviewers in private if you'd be bothered to communicate with me outside of anonymity (but it's really easy to talk smack when I don't have an outlet to respond to you, huh?) – so I'm assuming this means you don't write yourself, but if you think you can do it better, I'd love to see it. It's cool, I'll wait._

_To the rest of you: Don't worry, I will stop feeding the trolls now. Thanks for the continued support and comments. We'll be getting into the heart of this over the next few chapters. Thanks for sticking through all the crazy (lol, what am I saying, the crazy's just started)._

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 13**

"What?" Quinn pulled away, searching Rachel's eyes.

Rachel smiled up at her and repeated herself. "I said, 'It's about time.'"

Quinn tilted her head and released her hold on the shorter girl. "You knew?" she asked, stepping away from Rachel and sitting on the bed, taking a moment to make her own judgment about the state of her hand. Rachel was right; she was fine, but she'd have a hard time writing for a few days.

She heard Rachel sigh in barely contained frustration. "'Know' is a strong word," she said carefully. "I just… with all of the cuddling lately, I figured…"

It was Quinn's turn to sigh and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead in her hands. "Am I stupid?" she asked quietly, mostly to herself. "I must be stupid."

"What?" Rachel asked, shocked. "Quinn, no, you're not stupid. Why would you think that?"

Quinn looked up at her with wide eyes. "Rachel, I didn't even know I was going to do that until I was doing it," she said, gesturing to the wall that she had previously had Rachel pinned against. "But you apparently did."

"Quinn, I also grew up with two gay dads. In comparison, you grew up in the epitome of conservative Christian-dom. You… just don't think that way, I think."

"I'm not gay," Quinn said, looking away from Rachel and at the blanket across the bed.

"I never said you were," Rachel said, sitting carefully at the edge of the bed. "I've always known myself to be heterosexual, too," she explained with a shrug. "I just don't think it matters."

"How can it not matter?"

"Because I like you," she said simply with a shrug. "And if I read that whole situation right," she said, pointing to the wall, "then I think you maybe like me, too." She appeared to take Quinn's hesitant silence as an affirmation. "We don't have to unpack this right now."

"We don't?"

Rachel smiled and reached for Quinn's uninjured hand. "No. You've been through a whole lot today. We can just be Quinn and Rachel. That's uncomplicated enough, right?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, relief evident in her voice. Rachel was right; when Quinn let go of everything outside of the two of them – the social definitions and her parents' expectations – it became surprisingly easy to imagine herself kissing Rachel again. She could definitely handle "Rachel and Quinn."

* * *

><p>The last month of the school year went by quickly, and by the time Rachel dragged her to Kurt's end of year celebration a week before school let out for summer vacation, Quinn was almost feeling like her old self – not that she suspected she'd ever really feel like her old self again. She wasn't even sure what that meant, anymore.<p>

Rachel had changed something in her. They hadn't shared much beyond the occasional heated kiss amongst their usual snuggling and hand holding, but Quinn was struck by how eerily natural the whole situation felt. She remembered having to talk herself into appreciating Finn's forwardness, but she found she didn't have to convince herself of anything with Rachel. She didn't have to talk herself into wanting to touch the singer, or kiss her, or hold her – and she was pretty sure that holding her was the best – and while she found herself stricken with guilt every time she thought about her family or about God, she was coming to find that those moments were getting fewer and farther between.

"I thought you said we were going to a party at Kurt's," she said as Rachel pulled the car into an empty space of street outside of a house and Quinn noticed a group of football players roughhousing by the bushes in the yard.

Rachel cut the engine and turned to Quinn with a guilty look on her face. "This is Kurt's," she said. "But his dad kind of married Finn's mom, and so now life is weird for everybody," she explained, glancing sideways at the blonde, seemingly afraid of looking at her full on.

Which may have been her best move, really, because the closer Quinn found herself getting to Rachel, the easier it was for her to fall prey to the many guilty faces that she had seen Rachel's fathers fall prey to multiple times, but Quinn was determined to stand her ground. Her fall from grace before she had even reached the top was still a sore spot, and she didn't fancy the idea of spending the night with a bunch of drunk future frat boys. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Rachel in a show of displeasure, but it lacked any of the venom it used to have.

"Come on," Rachel coaxed, her voice almost a whine, and she reached across the center console to take one of Quinn's hands in both of hers. "You can't hide yourself away forever. Besides, I'm sure the two groups will segregate themselves from each other."

And at Rachel's pleading gaze, Quinn found herself relenting, kissing Rachel's hand gently. "Okay, fine," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically before reaching for the door handle, and Rachel's megawatt smile was her reward.

She stepped out of the car and waited as Rachel rounded the car and joined her, threading her arm through Quinn's and leading them quickly into the house. Quinn pretended not to notice the group of cheerleaders in the den as Rachel led her downstairs into the basement where Kurt and rest of Rachel's friends were hanging out.

Except it wasn't just Rachel's friends. It was Rachel's friends and Santana and Brittany, because of course it was. Why wouldn't this happen?

And conveniently, Rachel left her side to gush over some item of clothing with Kurt and Mercedes just as Santana approached her. "You should've gotten here sooner," Santana said snidely in greeting, "when I was still in the mood to beat your ass for what happened with Puck." She took a deep swallow of whatever was in her plastic cup – Quinn imagined it was the trash can punch she had noticed in the kitchen upstairs, and offered, "I guess I'll just have to give you a free pass."

Quinn arched an eyebrow but couldn't quite hold back the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Well, I certainly appreciate the kindness," she said, rolling her eyes and taking advantage of Santana's rarely seen good mood. Maybe it was the alcohol. She didn't really want to question it. "What are you even doing down here?" she asked after a few seconds. "This isn't exactly your crowd."

"Okay, yeah, for real," Santana responded, shifting her weight to one foot and cocking both a hip and her head as she examined the other people in the room. "These guys are losers, but fairy boy has the best skin care products," she explained, holding up a tube of something Quinn couldn't identify before slipping it back into her purse, obviously having recently relieved it of its previous ownership. "What about you, though? You're way too good for these guys." Quinn raised an eyebrow in silent defiance, and Santana rolled her eyes. "I don't mean Berry – she's better than everyone," she paused to laugh at the utter disbelief that crossed Quinn's face at her words. "Not that she's allowed to know that," she said with a stern look.

"I thought you said I wasn't one of you," Quinn said, thinking back to their last conversation together. "Doesn't that mean I'm one of them?" she asked, gesturing to the rest of the supposed "loser" crowd.

"Q, I told you nobody knows what you are."

"Okay, what does that even mean?" Quinn asked, frustrated with the vague terminology.

"It means that no one's ever seen you do anything real," Santana explained as Brittany finished trading foundation tips with Kurt and sidled up next to her, holding up a pinky and waiting for Santana to hook hers with it.

"Oh, and I suppose everything you've done has been authentic," Quinn challenged, eyeing their joined hands.

Instead of answering right away, Santana turned to Brittany and asked her in a voice Quinn had never heard the captain use, "Could you please go refill my drink? I'll meet you upstairs in a few minutes," and the taller blonde was grinning brightly and bounding up the stairs before Santana turned her attention back to Quinn. "I keep it fake so that I can keep it at all," she said frankly with a heavy gaze. "It's the same reason you can walk into a party with Berry on your arm and no one things twice – so long as that's the only place she is. But you don't even have a real. You're like a blank slate," she explained, gesturing vaguely in Quinn's direction. "Anyway, whatever you've got going on with Berry is probably good for you."

"Who said there was anything going on with Rachel?"

Santana narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as if to ask Quinn who she was feeling. "I don't know, the fact that you guys showed up on each other's arms for one?"

"That doesn't mean anything," Quinn said defensively, but weakly, and she tried and failed to keep her gaze away from the brunette across the room.

"Right, it doesn't mean anything that you can't keep your eyes off her for more than five minutes at a time," Santana pointed out, turning in the direction of the brunette and resting her forearm on Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn inhaled sharply and found herself snapping to a rested attention, and Santana removed her arm. "Am I really that obvious?"

"Not to everyone," Santana assured. "Just family."

"I'm not gay," Quinn said hotly, her shoulders tensing again, but Santana just chuckled next to her.

"Okay, well, whatever it is you're comfortable calling it."

"I don't call it anything," Quinn clarified, glancing defensively at Santana.

"But it is happening?"

Quinn shrugged again. "I don't know, I feel like it just snuck up on me. For a while she was just the incredibly kind girl that really helped me out when I needed it even though I had never been particularly nice to her. But I don't know, she… she's the only person I can stand to be touched by," she explained awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest. "And when I figured that out, it wasn't a huge jump to wanting to touch her."

Santana tilted her head speculatively as she eyed the shorter girl across the room before turning her head lazily to examine the blonde standing next to her. "You've never wanted that, have you?" she asked with a knowing grin sliding across her features. She nodded confidently when she took in Quinn's blank stare as response. "Yeah. Blank slate."

"And you thought you wouldn't have any fun," Rachel's voice sounded from halfway across the room as she returned to Quinn's side. "Hi, Santana," she offered politely.

Quinn watched as Santana's trademark sneer crossed her face until she made eye contact with the blonde, after which is was replaced with a fake smile that was decidedly better than outright contempt. "Hey, Berry," she said as distantly as she could. "Yeah, I got to get upstairs," she continued, speaking to no one in particular before heading upstairs after Brittany.

"That was weird," Rachel commented, looking up at Quinn.

"Santana's… a piece of work," Quinn said, hoping it was enough of an explanation.

Rachel nodded vaguely in agreement and then reached out her hand for Quinn's. "Come on," she said, dragging the blonde over to the couch in the corner of the room where half of the glee club was assembled. "Oh, wait!" she said, stopping halfway across the room. "We need drinks. I'll go get them."

"No, let me," Quinn offered, glancing nervously between Rachel and the group of people she didn't particularly want to be left alone with, and she was up the stairs before Rachel had time to protest.

The jocks had pretty much taken over the main floor of the house, which Quinn imagined worked out fairly effectively at keeping clique drama to a minimum, but it was a little jarring to go from the calmly social environment of the basement to the drunk ruckus occurring in the kitchen and the living room. She found herself pushing past bodies in various stages of coupledom to get to where the "trash can" – really a giant Gatorade jug – was prepared on the kitchen counter, spooning out a modest amount – while being sure to include a piece of fruit – into a plastic cup for Rachel, deciding to take a personal pass on drinking herself that night.

"Hey, Quinn." She almost ran into Finn's broad chest as she turned around to head back downstairs. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Finn, hi," she said awkwardly. She hadn't spoken to him since their last date, when she had told him about the pregnancy. "I didn't expect to be here," she offered lamely.

"Yeah…" he said, reaching a hand to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry," she said. She knew she had apologized at the time, but maybe he needed to hear it again. "I really never meant to hurt you in all of that."

"Yeah, but you did," he said with narrowed eyes, but he shook his head and waved off his initial reaction. "It doesn't really matter," he admitted. "If I'm honest, I think I always knew you were never all that into me."

"I wanted to be," she told him, and she meant it. He was everything she had wanted for herself – at least that's what she had told herself at the time. It wasn't his fault that things had felt flat the entire time they were together. But he smiled sadly and nodded in understanding before raising his glass in a mock toast. "Enjoy your night," he added, in a rare display of mannered hospitality.

She clinked the plastic cup she was holding against his. "You, too," she said, offering him her best friendly smile, and then he was off whooping and hollering and bumping chests with a few of the other members of the football team.

She was about to turn and actually head back downstairs when she felt an arm slip through hers and a delicate hand lift the drink from her hand. "I was wondering what was taking so long," Rachel said, taking a sip from the drink she had pilfered from the blonde. "Everything okay?" she asked, gesturing to Finn.

"Everything's fine, actually," Quinn said, smiling down at the brunette. "Come on, let's go see your friends," she added, taking Rachel by the hand that wasn't currently holding an alcoholic beverage and leading her downstairs, where she mostly played wallflower to the group that obviously knew all of each other's dirty little secrets. It was mildly amusing to watch Rachel get progressively more inebriated. She was turning out to be a touchy drunk, which Quinn normally would have worried about, but Rachel was touchy with everybody, and she stopped worrying about the excessive cuddling the third time she saw the brunette kiss Kurt on the cheek.

She excused herself briefly to go to the restroom, but found that quite a line had formed outside of it, which she supposed was what happened when two different cliques tried to have a giant party in the same house.

"Well, hey, Baby Mama," Puck's grating voice entered her ear and she felt his arm settle heavily around her shoulders and could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned closer to her.

"Leave me alone, Puck," she said through gritted teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall and as far away from Puck as she could.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," he said in what she was sure he thought was smooth voice, but she was sober, and he just came off as a drunken idiot. "I left Santana for you."

"I don't believe Quinn ever asked you to do that," Rachel said, approaching the two where Quinn stood in line for the bathroom. "And I'm almost certain Quinn didn't ask to be draped with your sweaty arm," she added, taking a dangerous step closer to him.

Puck removed his arm from around Quinn and held up both of his hands innocently. "Don't be jealous, there's enough of me to go around."

Rachel scrunched her face in disgust and turned her attention to Quinn, effectively ignoring the teenage boy. "I think I'm ready to go home," she told the blonde. "And I can't drive," she added, holding her car keys out in Quinn's general direction.

Quinn pushed past Puck and took the keys from Rachel, turning her around and steadying her with an arm around her waist, and she pulled the brunette's arm around her own shoulders as she guided the smaller girl outside and to the car.

Rachel slid sloppily into the passenger seat after Quinn opened the door for her, giggling all the way, but by the time Quinn reached the driver's side, Rachel had already crawled halfway across the center console to unlock the driver's side door. "Well, you're helpful," Quinn commented lightly as she slid behind the wheel, but Rachel didn't settle back into the driver's seat, choosing instead to remain hovering in Quinn's space as she slid the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life. "You're going to have to sit down and buckle up if you want to go home," she told the drunk girl with a patient smile on her face.

But instead of settling in for the ride home, Rachel lurched forward and captured Quinn's lips in hers with a kiss, and Quinn was vaguely aware of a time when her first instinct would have been to tear herself away and make sure that no one had seen, and was startled to find that she had no desire to do that. Instead, she found her breath hitching and her heart racing at the slight contact between them.

It wasn't a long kiss – Rachel was modest even while drunk – but it was enough to get the memories of the sour smell of Puck's breath out of her mind, and when they pulled away, Rachel dutifully buckled herself in before Quinn put the car in drive and took them both home.

* * *

><p>Rachel made a long, drawn-out shushing noise as she leaned against the house while Quinn fumbled with the keys trying to get both of them inside the house.<p>

"I didn't say anything," she pointed out as she finally got the door open and Rachel practically tumbled inside, giggling all the while. "Quiet, you'll wake your dads," she insisted in a harsh whisper.

"Daddy slept through a fire one time," Rachel said, offering no other context. "And Dad slept through a tornado."

"That was probably before they had a teenage daughter to be hyperaware of," Quinn argued, attempting to usher Rachel up the stairs, but the brunette was clearly having trouble with the first few steps. Rachel hadn't had much to drink – Quinn had been monitoring her intake – so she was having trouble figuring out if Rachel was really this tipsy or if she was just putting on a good show. "Okay, stop," she said, placing a hand on Rachel's shoulder to steady her. "Put your arms around me."

Rachel smiled brightly and did as she was told, but when she went in to nuzzle against Quinn's neck, Quinn reached down and swept Rachel's legs out from under her at the knees, shifting her into a princess hold and starting carefully up the stairs. "I had no idea you were so strong," she remarked as Quinn ascended the staircase, setting her back on her feet once they had reached the landing.

"Well, I used to lift Santana above my head," Quinn pointed out. "And I'm not even sure I could do that anymore. I got really out of shape with the baby. I'm going to have to start working out again, soon."

Rachel giggled softly as Quinn directed her to her room. "Working out…" she commented.

"What, like you don't? I've heard that elliptical going every morning," Quinn said, dropping to her knees and pulling Rachel's shoes off of her.

"I don't call it 'working out,'" she said with a few more giggles.

"Whatever," Quinn said, rummaging through Rachel's drawers and depositing suitable sleepwear next to the brunette. "Change into those, I'll be right back," she said, and left the room long enough to fill a glass of water and locate some aspirin, and when she got back she was surprised to discover that Rachel had actually managed her instructions and was already curled up under the blankets. "Take this," Quinn said, shoving the pills and water in Rachel's direction.

Rachel took the offered pills dutifully and set the water on her nightstand, settling back into her bed. "I have such a good girlfriend," she said sleepily and Quinn tensed.

"Rachel, how drunk are you?"

"Not nearly as drunk as you think I am," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Which means?"

"I could have gotten up the stairs by myself."

"I'm not your girlfriend," she said simply.

Rachel sighed and sat back up, shifting over in case the blonde chose to sit next to her. She didn't. "So you're saying?"

"That I'm not your girlfriend."

Rachel smiled good-naturedly. "And that means? Do you not want to do this anymore?"

And that thought made Quinn even more uncomfortable than Rachel's statement. "No. I like this. This is good."

"Okay, so do you want to do this with other people?"

Quinn furrowed her brow and shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not." As far as Quinn knew, Rachel was literally the only other person in the world she could stand to be intimate with on any kind of level.

"Okay, so it's not what we're doing that's the problem," she clarified, and Quinn shook her head in agreement. "Can I ask you something that might sound weird?"

Quinn forced herself to relax and finally decided to sit next to Rachel, though she kept close to the side of the bed. "I guess."

"Would you be okay with me being your girlfriend?"

Quinn bit her lip and thought about that for a second. For reasons she couldn't quite pinpoint, hearing it phrased that way didn't sound nearly as terrifying as when Rachel had called Quinn her girlfriend. "Yeah," she said, her nod growing in confidence the more she thought about it. "Yeah, I'm okay with that."

"But you're not mine."

Quinn shook her head just as confidently as she had been nodding it. "No. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because I just kind of got thrust into that space with Finn, but I'm just not comfortable being someone's girlfriend."

Rachel nodded as though she had seen that coming, and Quinn wasn't sure what to make of that. "Then I'm your girlfriend," she said, and left it at that. "Now kiss me good night and leave, you are not to take advantage of your drunk girlfriend."

Quinn chuckled as she leaned in, pressing her lips to Rachel's in a short kiss that nevertheless made her feel as though her head were spinning, and she had to clench her hands into fists to keep her fingers from running through Rachel's hair and deepening the kiss. "Good night," she said gently and tucked the brunette in as she, yet again, settled under the covers.

"Good night," came the response as she left and went to her own room. She stood in front of the mirror hanging in the closet door and her eyes settled on the small cross hanging around her neck. She hadn't been as hyper-aware of it as she had been in the past, and she was startled by that realization. Somehow, it didn't seem as heavy these days.

She thought that probably had something to do with how her faith had been shifting ever since her parents' had kicked her out of her home. It had started with Rachel's insistence that her faith was personal, and then she had visited that smaller church and seen how the understanding of God and Jesus changed even within members of the same religion.

She reached her hands up behind her neck and unclasped the piece of jewelry, letting it fall into the palm of her hand. She held it up and watched it dangle back and forth in front of her eyes and wondered how such a small piece of metal had had such control over her life for so long. She loved God. She knew that. But she was starting to get the sense that some of His followers weren't so great.

She moved to the dresser where she had finally unpacked her things and slid the cross inside a small coin purse she had appropriated as a jewelry box (which worked as long as she was careful). She was still a Christian; that wasn't what this act was about, but she felt as though she didn't need the iconography, anymore. That necklace had meant strict rules and oppressive roles since childhood, and since being shoved out of her childhood home, she had come to learn that that wasn't the God she knew.

So she wasn't stepping away from her faith – just its organized context, and she felt remarkably calm about that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes: **_*wipes brow* Whew! Now that all of that groundwork's been laid out it's time to walk headfirst into the gender storm. If you've stuck with me this long, thanks! Things might get a little weird (lol, as if they're not already), and you may be pushed out of your comfort zone, but I hope it'll pay off in the end._

_**Warnings:**__ John Galt-esque soliloquies, vague Boys Don't Cry spoilers_

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments**

**Chapter 14**

Quinn had never been so mortified – which probably should have been a bigger issue considering the year she'd had, but sitting on the couch across from two grown men sorting through their sex education supplies was a very special kind of hell.

Though, she supposed, from their parental perspective, she could see why they would think it necessary. They met her as a homeless pregnant teenager, after all.

Rachel had insisted on telling her dads about their vague indefinite together-ness, which Quinn couldn't really protest when she considered everything the two men had done for her over the past six months. The idea of being with Rachel behind their backs left her with a bad taste in her mouth, and so she hadn't needed much convincing.

It had gone fairly well. She got along well with the entire family, and she managed to avoid the humiliating interrogation in which she thought she'd be expected to defend her feelings for Rachel – feelings that were still vague even to herself. Instead, Hiram had started to lay down some fairly common sense ground rules about open doors until Leroy reminded him that they all lived in the same house, and it was unavoidable that Quinn and Rachel would be alone together at some point, and that really, the best they could do was trust in the values they had taught their daughter as well as Quinn's own judgment. He did, however, insist that they act responsibly and safely, and were now torturing her with information on dental dams.

"Now, condoms are easier to come by," Hiram was saying as Quinn brought her knees up to her chest on the couch and tried to turn into the smallest ball possible. "And they can be appropriated in a pinch. You'll just want to cut the tip off," he explained, showing as well as telling, "And then cut along the side, and when you unroll it, you've got yourself the same thing. You'll want the unlubricated kind, of course," he finished awkwardly.

"Dad, I really don't think we're ready for all this," Rachel explained, glancing quickly at the blonde next to her.

"Realistically, we know that, honey," Leroy answered, holding up a hand. "But we also know that you're teenagers and even though it's been many years, we both still know what it's like. Sometimes things get out of hand, and we just want to make sure that you have all the tools to make responsible decisions."

"Daddy," Rachel said, more forcefully, and it almost sounded like she was gritting her teeth.

"Rachel, I know," he said gently, looking over to Quinn and taking in her obviously uncomfortable state. "But you know that we still need to talk about this."

"It's okay, Rachel," Quinn insisted. After everything the Berry family had done for her, she figured the least she could do to put them at ease was listen to whatever speeches they had prepared. So she set her jaw determinedly and unwrapped her limbs from around herself and leaned forward, offering the two men her full attention, which only made it a little easier to hear about all the ways they could protect themselves from something she wasn't remotely prepared for.

* * *

><p>The last week of school went by in a blur of finals and papers, and Quinn had a hard time imagining the summer laid out in front of her as she cleaned out her locker. She was so far from where she had imagined herself being a year ago, and while the circumstances had been awful, she was no longer sure it was a bad thing.<p>

She allowed herself to consider where she might have been if she had never slept with Puck. What were her life be like, now? She'd probably still be with Finn, which would make her parents happy, but her experience with Rachel taught her that she was probably never going to be happy with him; let alone learn how to even remotely enjoy being intimate with him, which really wasn't all that fair to him. Which meant that it wasn't fair the first time, and it was hard to get over the guilt she felt about dragging him into her plans of securing her spot in the social hierarchy.

Which she wasn't even particularly interested in, anymore – could hardly remember when it had been, or why it had been so important.

And that was almost certainly due to the Berrys influences.

As devastating as it had been, if her father had never kicked her out of his home, she never would have been exposed to Leroy and Hiram's relationship – one which had taught her that everything she thought she knew about family was untrue. What those two men shared was so different from the model her parents had set for her. The man was the head of the household, and the wife was to support him, and the kids were to obey him. It had seemed completely logical growing up, but Leroy and Hiram were both men, and there was a reciprocity between them that didn't exist between her mother and father. She had also learned that gay people couldn't possibly raise children, but Rachel clearly established that notion as false. Rachel was the kindest person she knew – sure, she could be attention hungry at times, but they were few and far between and it probably had more to do with being an only child – and the way the brunette made her feel was more than enough to convince her that the Berry men had been successful parents. Especially Leroy, who didn't actually have any genetic ties to Rachel, though it was obvious that Rachel took more after her Daddy in terms of personality.

"Quinn!"

Quinn rolled her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the locker door in front of her. She was really tired of these confrontations. "Look, Puck, if it's about the baby, I already told you, you have no right…"

"I don't care about that right now," he said, cutting her off and standing in front of her, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What are you trying to pull?"

She hadn't had to pull out her repertoire of masks for a while, so she was a little slow in settling back into her cold stare that she had perfected last summer. "Excuse me?"

"With Berry," he said, dropping his gaze and looking around. "Do you know what this is going to do to me?"

Quinn searched her brain. What had she done with Rachel that had anything to do with Puck? What did Rachel have to do with Puck in the first place? What did Quinn, for that matter? "Again, I ask, 'excuse me?'"

"Don't play dumb," he said, taking a step closer to her but stopping once he saw the dangerous look on her face. "I saw you two kiss at the party," he said.

She probably should have been more concerned about being found out than she was – the Quinn from a year ago would have – but she mostly just angry that Puck had somehow managed to make Quinn's relationship with Rachel (whatever that was) about him. Seriously, who was this guy? "And?" she asked, feeling her anger start to bubble just behind her eyes. "What does that have to do with you?" she asked with a nonchalant shrug, which only seemed to irk him further.

"Come on, it's bad enough Santana would rather muff dive, but when people find out my baby mama's a dyke, I'm gonna be over."

And it was then that Quinn realized that his strange obsession with her didn't actually have anything to do with her. She was just a prize to be won, and instead of making her want to vomit, it served to stoke the fires smoldering just beneath the surface. "So, let me get this straight," she said, holding up a hand. "You're mad that I made a deeply personal decision about my life and didn't consider your feelings?" she asked with all the vitriol she had.

His face softened, but his brow was still furrowed and he was obviously frustrated. "You couldn't have just given me this?" he asked. "You gave away my kid, this is the least you could do."

Nope. That was it. He had zero right to mention a child he never actually wanted in the first place, much less claim some kind of incredulity over the way she chose to deal with a problem he got her into. The anger that she was trying to stamp down on roared in protest, and in a display of strength she hadn't quite known she possessed she had him shoved against the wall of lockers he was standing next to with a hand on his chest, and she was fairly certain that one of the locks was digging into his shoulder blade. "Man up, Puck," she growled, he voice low, and give him one more rough shove before stalking off down the hallway, bidding Puck and the school goodbye for the summer.

* * *

><p>"This movie looks really depressing," Quinn said as her eyes scanned the back of the DVD case.<p>

"Yeah, well, you didn't like But I'm a Cheerleader," Rachel argued absently as she cycled through the input channels on the television with the remote. "Which I really thought you'd like, by the way."

They had taken to going through the Berry library of queer cinema – tonight was Boys Don't Cry. Quinn suspected that Rachel was trying to get her used to the terminology surrounding their situation, if not the situation itself, but the fact was that Quinn hadn't managed to see herself depicted in any of them – including the comedy about a blonde cheerleader raised by Christian parents discovering her sexuality.

Quinn shrugged lightly. "It was too goofy."

"Okay, well, this is the exact opposite," Rachel said and turned around, having managed to locate the menu. "Besides, it's supposed to be really good. I think it won Hilary Swank an Oscar or something."

"Good for Hilary," she mumbled to herself as she shifted positions when Rachel joined her on the couch, angling across the cushions and letting Rachel lay half on top of her, leaning against her chest, and the blonde wrapped a blanket around both of them as Hilary Swank insisted her cousin cut her hair shorter, and announcing that she was a boy. She had to admit, when Brandon was put together, he (she?) did indeed look remarkably like a man.

As they watched the movie, Quinn became aware that Rachel would occasionally glance up to gauge her reaction, and by the time Brandon was insisting to his cousin that he wasn't a dyke, Quinn had mastered her impassive demeanor. Her impassivity slipped, however, by the time Brandon and Lana made it to the lake, and Quinn unconsciously tightened her hold on Rachel as the recently awakened but ever familiar sensation of arousal settled into her body.

But that warm and subtle vibration beneath her skin quickly gave way to a sinking pit in the middle of her stomach as Brandon was "found out," and Quinn had to physically hide behind Rachel to watch the last twenty minutes of the film, peering through strands of brown hair as the violence escalated. She had managed to feel hopeful, for just a second there, that those two messed up kids would successfully run away, but intellectually understood that could never happen. And as the credits rolled, Quinn was struck by the overwhelming numbness that had settled over her, and she was disappointed in herself to discover that she hadn't noticed Rachel's tears until she moved to wipe them away.

"So," Rachel said, sitting up and removing herself from Quinn's arms. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like I just ruined my whole day," Quinn replied, staring blankly at Rachel.

"Yeah, that was dark," Rachel agreed, and shifted further away from Quinn on the couch, running a hand through her own hair and looking sideways at the blonde. "But other than that, what did you think?"

"I think it looked like a lot of work," she said, scrunching her eyebrows in contemplation, and thinking back to the scene outlining Brandon's strict presentation rituals.

"What do you mean?"

"The costume," Quinn clarified. "It just seemed like a lot to go through every day – like the breast wrapping," she said.

"Well, I'm not sure it was a costume to him," Rachel said gently, catching the blonde's eye. "I mean, it was obviously important to him, and you just said that it seemed like a lot of work. He had to have been getting something out of it."

"He?" Quinn asked with a curious eyebrow arch, purposefully ignoring the spark in the back of her mind that was screaming about her own hypervigilance in public.

"Well, yeah," Rachel said with a shrug. "He lived as a man, and he obviously presented that way. He was even announced himself as a boy in the beginning of the movie. I think it's just polite to refer to him as such."

"Okay, but he was really a girl."

"I don't think it's that simple," Rachel argued. "And I think that was the point of the film. Take Lana for instance," she said, leveling a hand in the air, palm up, as if the character in question were physically represented perched atop her hand. "There was never really an "aha" moment when Brandon's physical gender becomes revealed to her. Was it at the lake, when she glanced down his shirt? Was it after she bailed him out of jail where she found him in a women's cell? Even when he's violently 'exposed,'" she said, using air quotes to indicate the problematic use of the verb, "she yells for them to leave _him_ alone. It's like regardless of Brandon's physical body, Lana obviously experiences him a certain way, and I think it's how he experiences himself."

"So then all of that work," Quinn started, "was a validation of his experience as… what?"

Rachel shrugged. "Does it matter? Maybe he very strongly knew himself to be a man; maybe he just knew he wasn't a woman. At the end of the day, he found a way to present himself to the world that felt authentic to him, and I don't know that anyone else gets to dictate that."

Quinn tilted her head from side to side, processing Rachel's words and the film she had just seen. "I guess that makes sense," she said finally. Her head felt heavy and her body felt numb, and after the stark darkness of the film, she mostly just wanted to wrap her arms around Rachel until she felt better. "Come here," she said, and opened her arms for Rachel to resume their previous position. Quinn rested her cheek on the top of the brunettes head as they settled back into the couch. "How do you experience me?" she asked absently, and felt Rachel chuckle on top of her.

"I experience you as Quinn," she said frankly and turned her head to look up at Quinn, offering her a happy smile, which the blonde readily returned before tilting her head down for a gentle kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes:** _Hey, you remember that time I told you updates would be around once a month, and then I wrote a year's worth in the span of two months? Fun times. That being said, I both loved and hated writing this chapter, because I've finally gotten to scenes that I've wanted to write for months, but they're also incredibly delicate. So… be prepared for that, I guess._

_**Warnings:**__ literary structures, the last damn time I'm going to talk about this (at least through chapter 24), this shit got real_

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments  
>Chapter 15<strong>

Quinn had missed being able to move like this, and she relished at the burn in her arms and across her chest as she worked on a third set of pushups. At ten, she held plank and waited for the muscles in her abdomen to start shaking before relaxing and standing up. She had been restless lately, and was having trouble figuring out exactly why, but she was glad to have the physical outlet for her energy that pregnancy had practically robbed from her.

She stretched her arm across her chest – first one then the other – and reveled in the satisfying tug she felt on her tense muscles. She took a sip of water from the bottle on the dresser and stood in front of the mirror, examining the subtle way her triceps curved in her arms. Since being unceremoniously kicked out of the Cheerios, she found that she didn't miss much about it – but she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the routine workouts. She would just have to step up on her own.

And then she thought about Brandon and his almost ridiculous obsession with exercise while in jail. Was that what she was doing?

The movie had stuck with her. She wasn't sure why. It could have been the sheer horror of the ending, and a part of her wanted to boil it down to being drawn to the hopeless romanticism of it all, but she knew it was more than that. Quinn felt profoundly drawn to the movie in a way she had yet been unable to define, and it scared her.

As her eyes moved over her own reflection, she found herself trying on a few of her old stances and glares she had spent so much time perfecting that she no longer had use for. Why had she done that? Who was she trying to be? She took a deep breath and set her jaw, giving herself one last glance over in the mirror before stripping off the wife beater she had been wearing and making her way over to the dresser.

She rummaged around the top drawer for a moment or two, reaching into the back and underneath her socks to pull out an old sports bandage left over from a sprained ankle. With her back resolutely to the mirror, she began to unroll the length of cloth across her chest and around her back, quickly discovering how difficult it was to pull it tightly enough around her torso for this purpose by herself. And when she moved, she winced at the tugging she felt around her ribs and the resistance pressing against her chest every time she tried to inhale deeply.

She ignored the mirror as she moved into the closet, looking for the least feminine shirt she had. She settled on a grungy plaid button up – it was cinched at the waist, but it would have to do – and put it on before examining herself in the mirror. It still wasn't right. She took the shirt off and threw a t-shirt on before putting the button up back on over it, leaving it unbuttoned. That definitely drew attention away from the cut of the shirt, and as Quinn raked her eyes over her own body, she could almost feel something shift inside of her, and she was quickly adjusting to the discomfort pressing around her lungs. She turned to the side, unconsciously looking for traces of the breasts she had suddenly become hyperaware of, and her brow furrowed when she found none, running her hand up and down her seemingly flat torso. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back and imagining what it would look like shorter. And before she knew what she was doing, she found herself experimenting with various poses. She tilted her head up and stood straight, her legs firmly apart, and hooked a thumb into her pants, and was astonished to discover that they seemed to come far more naturally than the physical presence she had previously cultivated.

And it was that realization that had her remembering who she was and just what she was doing. "This is stupid," she said, and she shook her head roughly, as though waking herself out of a daze, and quickly stripped out of the clothes she had put on, tugging on the sports wrap around her chest until it fell in a tangled heap on the floor. She replaced her sports bra and tank top and dropped to the floor, starting a set of crunches with renewed vigor.

* * *

><p>There was something remarkable about the way it felt kissing Rachel. Kissing Finn had always felt like an obligation – something she did because she thought she was supposed to, which she supposed was true enough. But this? This was different. This was a pleasant tingle that thrummed through her body, and she liked it. And while she loved Rachel's singing, she began to discover that she liked the sounds she could elicit from the brunette even more.<p>

She loved the sigh that escaped from Rachel's mouth and she rolled her over onto her back, leaning over her at an angle, and she loved the whimper that came when she gently took the singer's lip between her teeth. The first time she kissed Rachel it had taken her by surprise; she had never known herself to romantically aggressive, but she had definitely felt something settle inside of her, and now, as she trailed her fingers along Rachel's side, she couldn't help the smile that crept across her face at the shiver she received in response.

And she felt exhilarated as she lowered her body half on top of the smaller girl's, enjoying the way Rachel seemed to instinctively arch into the contact, and Quinn easily slipped an arm around her waist, holding her close. She found herself threading the fingers of her free hand through Rachel's hair, fisting a portion close to the scalp and pulling gently, simultaneously nudging the girl's chin up with her nose and waited for the gasp she knew would come when she pressed her lips to the brunette's neck. But as Rachel clutched at the material of Quinn's shirt, she found herself heaving a shaky sigh and practically collapsing on top of the singer, hiding her face in the crook of Rachel's neck as she caught her breath. "We have to stop," she said resolutely before rolling over and onto her back.

"Okay," Rachel said, turning onto her side towards Quinn and shifting down the mattress until she could settle her head on Quinn's shoulder as the blonde wrapped an arm around her.

"Sorry," Quinn said, sighing and rubbing at her face with her free hand. "I'm just…"

"It's okay," Rachel interrupted, looking up at her long enough to give her a reassuring peck on the lips before settling back down into their cuddling. They sat there for several silent minutes while Quinn absently played with Rachel's hair, and Rachel fingers traced lazy patterns across Quinn's stomach. "What was it like?" Rachel asked finally.

Quinn furrowed her brow in confusion, and took Rachel's hand in hers, loosely lacing their fingers together. "What do you mean?"

"Being pregnant," Rachel mumbled, turning her face further into Quinn's shoulder, and squeezing her arm around the blonde's waist when she felt her tense.

"I don't know how to explain it," Quinn started with a heavy sigh, stilling the fingers still buried in Rachel's hair. "I felt really disconnected from the whole experience. Most of the time it was like it was happening to somebody else. I didn't even really notice it until I started to show," she explained carefully, looking blankly up at the ceiling, trying to recall her state of mind during the pregnancy. "Almost like I was outside of my body, I guess? And watching it from afar. And then… I don't know, it mostly just sucked."

"Is that why you gave her away?" Rachel asked, working to keep her voice even.

"Rachel…" Quinn said quietly, but it looked like this conversation was happening regardless.

"I'm just curious," Rachel said quickly and firmly. "We just had a couple conversations about it, and… I don't know, for a minute there, I thought you might keep her."

"For a minute there, so did I," Quinn said with a shrug. "But, I don't know… you said once that the only thing that mattered was whether or not I wanted to raise her," she remembered, pointing to one of their earlier conversations about the pregnancy. "And I just thought that it would be better for her to have a mom who actually wanted to be her mom."

"You didn't want that?"

Quinn sighed and thought about her answer for several minutes. "Not in any real sense, I don't think," she said finally. "I think that in all the excitement you expressed about meeting your mom that it might have colored the way I was thinking," she explained carefully. "I mean, I was just so wrapped up in what that meant for you, that I wasn't really considering my own feelings."

Rachel propped herself up on her elbow and turned to look at the blonde. For a second, Quinn thought she was about to start and argument, but then her face softened and she settled back into her previous position. "I guess that makes sense," she said softly.

"Look, I know that things are weird with you and Shelby now, and that's probably my fault…"

"No," Rachel said, actually sitting up this time and turning her body to face Quinn, sitting cross-legged in front of her and the blonde shifted herself up to lean against the headboard of the bed. "It's mine. Or hers. I don't know."

"You never really talked about what happened."

Rachel shrugged and looked down at the bedspread. "Nothing, really. When she realized that I was getting too attached too quickly she reminded me that I had two parents and that she wasn't one of them."

Quinn slid her hand across the bed and took hold of Rachel's. "Would you hate me if I told you I think she kind of has a point?"

"No," she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "As much as I don't want to admit it, I know that I hurt my dads when I asked to meet her. Especially Daddy. I think he felt especially threatened."

"He did," Quinn confirmed, remembering the scene he and Hiram had made in the kitchen the night of the big dinner. He didn't deserve to be put in that position, and she honestly thought he handled it with a lot of grace.

Rachel nodded slowly. "Yeah, I thought so," she said sadly, then shook her head and lightened her voice. "Anyway, Shelby said she'd be open to a relationship in the future, once I've gotten past my maternal expectations."

"That seems fair," Quinn said gently, knowing full well she was treading on thin ice, but she also remembered what Shelby had said about having reservations about meeting Rachel in the first place. She thought this was probably the most selfless gesture Shelby could have shown towards the singer without sacrificing her own sense of self – Shelby was still a person and her rights didn't necessarily come after Rachel's – and she thought it was fairly big of her.

"What about you, though?" Rachel asked, squeezing the blonde's hand lightly. "Do you want to have a relationship with Beth?"

Quinn sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I think I'm in the same space as Shelby, really," she said, narrowing her eyes in contemplation. "I know what meeting your mom meant to you," she said, looking at Rachel, "and so I don't want to deny that to her. But I also want it to be her choice," she explained. "But I also know that I'm not her mom."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I don't feel like it," Quinn said frankly, shrugging one shoulder. "I could hardly even convince myself that I was pregnant when I was carrying her," she reminded the singer. "Nine months, and I never once felt connected to that child."

Rachel's eyes glazed over as she stared at an imaginary spot on the far wall. Quinn wracked her brain for a way to backpedal, terrified that she had said something that was going to trigger the brunette who was obviously dealing with her own maternal issues. But eventually, Rachel just narrowed her eyes and settled back next to Quinn, leaning against the headboard next to her and resting her head on her shoulder. "That must have been rough."

"It wasn't, really," Quinn said, squinting in contemplation as though the thought simply hadn't occurred to her. "It just… was."

* * *

><p>Quinn had forgotten how jarring it could be in a crowd. She had been enjoying the solitary laziness of the summer with Rachel, but she really should have known that it was just a matter of time before the brunette pulled her out of the house. Rachel wanted things, after all, especially from her kinda sorta significant other, which is how Quinn found herself attempting to navigate through crowds of people without losing her ridiculously tiny girlfriend migrating around the mall.<p>

She had never really been into shopping and had already lost count of how many stores they had been to, which had mostly consisted of Quinn standing outside the dressing room while Rachel tried on the same argyle sweater in four different color palettes, and while she thought she was going to enjoy their stint in Blackheart (because Rachel and lingerie was certainly an equation with a positive outcome, right?), but she mostly felt uncomfortable and out of place, and that sensation of being too much for her own skin had settled in for the duration of their stay.

And by the time she managed to drag herself out of her head she wasn't entirely sure where she was, anymore. She just knew that she was standing outside yet another dressing room waiting for Rachel to determine if whatever article of clothing she had was worth the price tag. She took in her surroundings, her eyes landing on a rack of men's jeans not too far from where she was standing. With a quick glance at the other patrons, she took three quick steps over and began to casual peruse the selection.

Truth was, she had no idea what she was looking for, or even what she was doing. But a dark washed slim cut pair caught her eye, and while most of the other jeans had been far too large (or too long, rather) for her body, these were a 30x30 that she thought she could work with.

"Those would look good on you, you should get them," Rachel's voice came from behind her.

She turned around quickly and, almost comically, tried to hide the pants behind her back, which was ridiculous, because Rachel obviously knew what she was doing. She tried to wrack her brain for an excuse as to why she'd be looking at men's jeans but came up empty. It's not like she had a brother to shop for, or anything. And then she thought about what Rachel had said, and she had to admit that even as she eyed the other customers in the store milling slowly about them, the encouragement felt nice. And while she wasn't entirely sure of her own mental landscape, Rachel had proven herself safe time and time again and if she couldn't start letting her girlfriend in, who could she?

"Really?" she asked shakily and looked at the jeans in her hand.

"Yes," Rachel said resolutely and stepped forward, taking the pants gently from Quinn and folding them, smaller than the display had until they were a non-descript bundle of denim, and handed them back to Quinn. "So get them."

Quinn bit her lip as she tucked the bundle under her arm, taking one last survey of their surroundings, and upon finding no one she recognized, walked with Rachel determinedly to the counter, where she tried to remain impassive as the cashier rung up her purchase. She had to admit to herself that it was possible she had over-anticipated a problem, because the poor guy looked afraid to say hello, much less comment on her fashion decisions, but it somehow didn't matter by the time she and Rachel made it out of the store intact and unscathed.

"Well," Rachel said, threading her arm through Quinn's as she handed her the shopping bags – which Quinn took without question – and gently squeezing the blonde's bicep. "Why don't we go see a movie, huh? Big dark room, no more walking?"

"Yeah, that sounds really good, actually," Quinn said, and she could practically feel herself relax at the thought, and the two headed toward the direction of the theater.

They were not, however, prepared for the lines. Apparently, one of the new superhero movies had opened that weekend, and everyone and their grandmother decided they needed to see it right that second. Quinn clenched her jaw and focused on breathing as she stood stiffly in line next to Rachel until she heard a voice she had absolutely been hoping to avoid.

"Quinn, Rachel," Santana's voice filtered above the crowd before the girl materialized out of the crowd with Brittany, rushing up to them and hugging them both as though they were great friends who hadn't seen each other in years. "Sorry we're late," she said loudly, slipping into line next to them, offering sickly sweet smiles to the people in line behind them that she had effectively cut in front of. "This line's ridiculous," she muttered under her breath when no one challenged her actions.

"Hi, Santana," Quinn said stiffly as Rachel and Brittany exchanged more amicable greetings. That was Brittany, though. She was nice to everyone.

Seriously, what did she see in Santana?

"Hey, Q," Santana said, smiling. "What you got there?" she asked, eyeing the bags in the blonde's hand.

"Santana, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Rachel asked pointedly, drawing the Latina's attention away from Quinn.

Santana shrugged. "You had a better place in line," she explained, with wide eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What, you guys can't sit in a dark room with me and Brittany for a few hours?"

Quinn opened her mouth, prepared with a witty retort, but Rachel beat her to it. "We would be more than happy to sit in a dark room with you for two hours," she said with a bright smile, and ignoring Quinn's reactionary face. "We were just surprised, because you don't usually give us the time of day."

"Well, then consider this your lucky day, Berry," Santana replied before stepping up to the box office and purchasing two tickets for, of course, the same movie Rachel wanted to see – some kind of romantic comedy. She was almost certain this had been Brittany's decision instead of Santana's.

She let Rachel pay for their tickets, but insisted on providing the refreshments, which sounded like a fair trade on paper until she considered the exorbitant prices of modern movie theater concession stands, but she had a bit more disposable income than Rachel, anyway. Plus, there were only a few items that fit into Rachel's diet.

She tried to engage in small talk as they sat in their seats waiting for the lights to dim and the show to start. This was made infinitely easier by the fact that she was sitting on the far side of the group, with Rachel between herself and Brittany, with Santana on the other side of the taller blonde. She mostly just interjected sounds of interest into their conversation. She couldn't quite follow it, because Brittany's mind worked in mysterious ways, but she was pretty sure dolphins were involved.

And then the lights were dimming, and Rachel and Brittany stopped talking to each other. Out of the corner of her eye and over Rachel's head, she could Santana put her arm around Brittany's shoulders, and the reason she had insisted on sitting in the back row became apparent.

"Would you relax?" Rachel whispered in her ear as she slipped her hand into the blonde's. "You're clenching your jaw so hard I'm afraid you're going to chip a tooth."

Quinn forced herself to relax her jaw – had not even realized she had been grinding her teeth in the first place and took a sip of her drink to relieve the tension in her mouth. "Sorry," she said, eyeing the other couple next to them.

Rachel just gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand before turning her attention back to the screen, and while Quinn couldn't remember the first thing about the movie she had seen, the excitement exuding from Rachel as they walked out had made the whole day worth it.

* * *

><p>Quinn was so far from ready for the knock on the door. It had been a few days since her trip to the mall, and her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. She had shoved the pair of jeans in the back of the closet and tried to forget about them, but there she was again, standing in front of the mirror, her breasts tightly concealed underneath the sports wrap, except this time, she had a pair of pants that seemed to magically shave her hips down, and she was only unsettled because acknowledging that she enjoyed the illusion made her feel settled.<p>

She cursed herself as she began to panic. She shouldn't have been so careless; she should have waited until she was sure the house had gone to sleep. She looked around, as though the answer to her predicament were laid out in front of her, but she knew there was no way of getting out of her current attire quickly enough not to rouse suspicion. "Come in?" she said, though it came out as more of a question as she crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that whoever it was wouldn't notice her sudden lack of breasts.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, entering the room as she always did, by poking her head in before the rest of her body followed. Quinn could almost physically feel Rachel's eyes rake across her body, taking in her change of wardrobe and lingering on the conspicuous flat expanse of her torso before the brunette gently closed the door behind her. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked carefully, stepping to the side so the blonde had a straight shot to the exit if she needed it.

"No," Quinn said determinedly, hugging herself tighter before sighing and letting her arms fall uselessly to her chest. "Yes," she said, her voice softer. "I don't know."

"Well, that was clear," Rachel said with a warm smile, obviously trying to diffuse some of the tension, and she took a few steps forward, standing in front of the blonde. "I was right, those jeans look good on you."

Quinn arched an eyebrow and caught the brunette's eye. "Is that all you have to say?"

Rachel chuckled good-naturedly. "What would you like me to say?" she asked, but sighed and dropped her smile at Quinn's continued anxious expression. "Okay," she said, and grabbed the hem of the blonde's button-up. "What is this?"

She ran her hands through her hair and stepped around Rachel, sitting on the edge of her bed and bracing an arm on her knee. "I don't know," she said, staring at the floor, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Okay, then," Rachel said, and sat next to her.

"I guess I'm curious?" she said, turning her head to look at the brunette. "I don't really know how to describe it."

Rachel smiled reassuringly at her. "You know, it's okay to be curious, right? And to experiment?"

Quinn nodded absently. "I guess so," she said, and she turned her eyes to the floor. She hadn't let herself think about what she was doing, and attempting to process it with Rachel was proving to be harder than anticipated. "I'm scared," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, and for a second, she thought Rachel might not have heard her.

"Why?" Rachel asked, finally.

"Because I like it," the blonde said as she heaved a sigh, her voice shaky.

"I think," Rachel started with a heavy thickness in her voice, "that you're only scared because you've been taught to be. This is obviously doing something for you," she said, gesturing vaguely in Quinn's direction. "So just tell me about it."

"That's just it, I don't know how," Quinn said, running her hands over her face in exasperation. "There aren't words for it – there's just this pulling that I feel in the back of my brain that urges me to…" she started, bringing her hand to her own chest. "I don't even know," she finished, defeated.

She saw Rachel nod solemnly out of the corner of her eye, and then her shoulders were being pushed back so that the singer could straddle her lap, and Quinn's hands went to her thighs automatically as Rachel's arms circled her neck. "What if I told you that I thought you were making a mountain out of a mole hill?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye that Quinn had seen a few times before. She chuckled as Quinn arched an eyebrow in disbelief, and Rachel rolled her eyes. "You could just be experimenting with aesthetic," she pointed out, as though it should have been obvious. "You're a teenager. You're going to experiment with self-expression. It's pretty much to be expected," she said, and while Quinn was almost certain there was more to, she recognized Rachel's mood as an attempt to lessen the seriousness of the situation – whatever that might be – and it was one of the things that made her fall for the singer just a little bit more, and then she was leaning forward to capture Rachel's lips with hers and she grinned at the brunette's surprised squeal as her arms tightened around the blonde's shoulders as their weight shifted. "Besides," the brunette said against Quinn's mouth. "I think you look kind of sexy."

Quinn chuckled and kissed her again, sliding her hands up Rachel's thighs and around her hips in order to wrap her arms around her back and pull her body closer. Rachel put her hands on either one of Quinn's shoulders and pulled away suddenly with a gasp. "What am I going to call you – this butch alter ego?" she asked playfully. "I mean, obviously, I could still call you Quinn, I suppose it's technically gender neutral…"

Rachel's good mood was contagious and Quinn found herself laughing despite herself. "Yeah, but think of all the Quinns you know – all women," she pointed out. "Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman."

Rachel narrowed her eyes in thought. "That guy from Dexter!" she exclaimed finally, obviously feeling triumphant, but Quinn shook her head.

"That was his last name, remember?" the blonde explained. "His first name was Joseph."

The brunette nodded as she remembered that fact, then squinted as she studied Quinn's face. "So… Quentin?"

Quinn scrunched up her face in disgust. "Absolutely not," she said with a huff, but after a few moments, her face softened and she had to look away from the girl in her lap. "I… I think I like 'Lucas,'" she said quietly. She hadn't exactly wanted to admit that she had thought about it before – had been thinking about it a lot actually.

Rachel leaned back and looked quizzically at the blonde, searching her eyes for something. "What does that come from?"

Quinn bit her lip and looked away. "Well, you know Quinn's my middle name, right?"

Rachel shook her head, her face covered in curious interest. "You never told me that," she explained. "How would I know?"

"Well, my first name is Lucy," she said softly, and left it at that.

Rachel ducked her head in order to make eye contact with the blonde. "Why do I think there's a story here?" she asked. "Why'd you stop using that name?"

"Because Lucy was a disgrace," she bit out. "She was fat and clumsy and couldn't do anything right – couldn't cross her legs at the ankle the way mom or Frannie could, and the stores that the Fabray family shopped at wouldn't even make clothes in her size."

Rachel narrowed her eyes and studied Quinn's face. "I find it hard to believe that you, at any point in your life, were a disgrace," she said softly but firmly.

Quinn shook her head. She had gotten off topic. "Look, I hated Lucy," she said. "So did my family, to the point that they were willing to spend thousands of dollars on plastic surgery so that I could be who I was supposed to be, but that doesn't matter," she said as Rachel opened her mouth to protest or question further. She really didn't want to talk about Lucy more than she had to. Not with Rachel. Lucy wasn't someone she was ever going to meet, so the less she knew, the better. "What matters is… Lucy's where I come from. For some reason, I feel like I need to acknowledge that somehow."

Rachel's face softened again and she leaned in for a quick kiss. "So Lucas the alter ego is born, huh?"

Quinn nodded slightly. "Yeah, I guess so."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's Notes:**__ Quick note on names and pronouns – sometimes name and pronoun changes happen separately. As illustrated in the chapter, Lucas has started to think of herself in relation to that name, but seeing as there hasn't been any active pronoun play, yet, I saw no reason to enforce a pronoun switch at this time. This may make for a mildly confusing couple of chapters, but I hope you'll bear with me. Or not. Your choice._

Also, to the few of you who somehow didn't know that Quinn was going to transition, you should be aware that I've been clear that this is an ftm!Quinn story from the word go, and you're not going to hurt my feelings by not following this story anymore because of it. Bye, Felicia!

**Building Fences Out of Tense Moments  
>Chapter 16<strong>

"Hey, Lucas, what are you using to bind?" Rachel asked from behind her laptop where she sat at her desk.

"An ace bandage, why?" Lucas asked absently, turning the page in the latest Gaiman short story collection. Rachel had taken to calling her Lucas even when she wasn't "presenting," as they had taken to calling it, which was turning out to be perfectly okay with the blonde. It wasn't a name they used in public, so it had almost become a special kind of secret between the two of them, and she liked the way the name sounded on the singer's lips – so much so that she had started to think of herself that way.

She heard Rachel gasp before she felt her slide on the bed next to her. "You have to stop," she insisted, and Lucas rigidly refused to make eye contact, trying resolutely to reread the sentence the brunette had just interrupted.

"Okay, well, I'm not right now, so no big deal," she said, turning the page.

Rachel sighed, and Lucas could just imagine her rolling her eyes. "No, I mean in general, it's really dangerous."

Finally, Lucas lowered the book, tilting her head to the side to take in Rachel's fearful brown eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It's the way the fabric's made," Rachel explained. "It's meant for supporting sports injuries right?" she asked, continuing only after she got a confirmation nod from the blonde. "Okay, well, it's designed to get tighter as you move, so it just gets tighter and tighter the more you wear it, and apparently people have cracked ribs that way."

Lucas was skeptical. Granted, she didn't necessarily spend a lot of time in "Lucas-mode," but she couldn't imagine a simple sports wrap causing that much damage. But Rachel's eyes were wide with concern, and she knew the brunette was not going to let the subject drop. "Okay, what do you suggest?"

She marveled at Rachel's range of emotional expression as her concerned frown quickly turned into an ecstatic smile. "We'll get you a binder!" she said brightly. "They're these compression vests – though they look more like tank tops – and they're designed to…"

Lucas held up a hand, effectively halting Rachel's diatribe. "Wait, you mean somebody actually made a clothing article designed to compress breasts?" she asked skeptically. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Well, they're made for guys with gynecomastia," she explained with a huff. "It's a rare condition that causes some men to develop breasts," she added at Lucas' raised eyebrow.

"Show me," Lucas said, pointing to the laptop still sitting on Rachel's desk before getting off the bed and making her way over to it.

Rachel was quick on her heels and slipped into the chair in front of the computer quickly before Lucas could get to it first. When she moved the mouse and the screen saver vanished (a picture of the two of them with their arms around each other that she vaguely remembered Hiram taking), the conspicuous way she was trying to navigate away from whatever the brunette was looking at earlier drew Lucas' attention.

She had made out the words "gender therapy" and had seen the name of a doctor with the world's most German-sounding name before a different page loaded and she was looking at what essentially amounted to a bunch of men in girdles. "Wait, go back," she said, making vague swiping motions, as though she could control the browser by gesturing emphatically.

She ignored the sideways and somewhat guilty look Rachel was giving her as she pressed the back button and waited for the page to reload. "Dr. Gustafson, gender therapy," she mumbled as she read the green header, her eyes traveling down the side bar: _Counseling is a journey toward wholeness. It is about learning to honor and appreciate the whole self. The art of living requires we learn how to navigate our way through many incredible and sometimes difficult challenges. When the path becomes dim and your spirit feels lost, perhaps it is time to find a counselor you can trust to help guide you back to your source of energy and inspiration… your authentic self._ A little lower, she read: _My services include: Gender Identity, Gender Transition, Sexual Identity, Self-Esteem, Relationships_, and finally, a quote from Galileo Galilei: _"We cannot teach people anything; we can only help them discover it within themselves."_

She took a deep breath and stood straighter, practically towering over the sitting brunette. "I'm not crazy, Rachel," she said, as calmly as she could.

"I know you're not," Rachel said forcefully. "I never said you were," she pointed out. "But I do think that you're going through something, and I thought maybe talking to someone would help. I was just doing research."

"Right, without even bothering to include me in it," Lucas pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"Because I knew you'd respond like this," Rachel grumbled, mostly to herself, but Lucas heard it anyway.

"You know, you did this when we got together, too," Lucas accused.

"Do what?" Rachel asked, visibly straining to keep her voice calm.

"Pretend like you have me all figured out, that's what," the blonde clarified, running her hands through her hair in agitation.

"Lucas, I'm just trying to help," the brunette said, and Rachel's voice was soft and scared, but the use of their name for the blonde got under her skin in a way she hadn't expected.

She shook her head. "No. You don't get to call me that," she said, heading toward the door. "In fact, this is over. Lucas is dead."

"Quinn, it doesn't work that way…" she heard as she closed the door behind her. She didn't much care to hear whatever came after that.

* * *

><p>She thought about cancelling the top secret surprise road trip that Rachel had talked her into a few days earlier, but when she remembered how important it had seemed to the brunette at the time, Lucas – no, Quinn, couldn't bring herself to let her down, no matter how angry at her she may have been.<p>

So they sat in tense silence as Rachel maneuvered her way through highway traffic on a Saturday afternoon, to attend an event that the blonde knew nothing about, which had certainly made dressing for the occasion difficult. "Casual" had only told her so much, and she had been experimenting with ways to incorporate a few of the new pieces she had been adding to her wardrobe without raising too many questions. She seemed to be having a lot of luck pairing layered button-ups with skinny jeans, but even that was only acceptable in certain circles, though Rachel had assured her that whatever she wore would be fine.

"Could you at least pretend not to hate me?" Rachel asked as she exited the highway.

"I don't hate you," Lucas said softly. She was going to have to work on shifting back to her old name, apparently, which was strange, because it had been a fairly easy name to transition to the first time. "I just wish you'd talk to me instead of making assumptions."

"Well, Quinn," she said, putting on her blinker and changing lanes, and Lucas found herself missing their little secret for just a second. "It's not like that would have gone over well. You're not exactly the easiest person to talk to."

Lucas knew this, logically. She knew she had a tendency to shut down when she felt exposed or vulnerable, if not outright physically run away from the situation. How many times had she walked away from Rachel? She'd lost count. "I feel like that's beside the point, though," she said, shrugging. "Just because it isn't easy doesn't mean it shouldn't happen."

Rachel pulled into a parking garage, paying the machine in exchange for an exit ticket. "Okay, so if I had come to you on the first day of school and told you that I was into you, that would have gone over totally fine?" she asked skeptically, pulling into a parking space and turning to face the blonde. "Or if I had kissed you in the bathroom the day you got slushied like I wanted to – that would have worked? OH!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers in excitement. "I should have grabbed you and pulled you on top of me the day you came home from the hospital and dragged me into bed with you. Any of those opportunities surely would have ultimately led to a relationship. You wouldn't have gone running for the hills at all," she finished, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Lucas felt herself recoil at Rachel's words, blinking in dumbfounded silence. She was torn between the warmth that came from knowing that Rachel had been interested in her from the beginning, but she also couldn't deny the point that Rachel was trying to make. If any of those things had happened, they probably wouldn't be where they were now. Lucas would have packed her bags and been on the first bus out of town.

"Look, I get what you're saying, and I'm sorry," Rachel continued at the blonde's silence. "It is not my job to make assumptions about you, no matter how hard it is for me to know you. I recognize that you're trying," she said methodically. "This probably isn't going to go over well," she continued, gesturing outside of the car, "but we're here for a queer youth group. I know," she said, holding up a hand at Lucas' glare, "that I should have told you, but…" she turned to look out the window and then back toward the blonde. "I'm going," she finished with a shrug, and got out of the car.

Lucas probably should have felt her anger return tenfold, but she was mostly just tired and resigned. With a sigh, she got out of the car and followed Rachel out of the parking garage and across the street into an office building and into an elevator. Countless twists and turns through a beige labyrinth later, and Lucas was standing awkwardly in a room full of strangers.

"Hi, welcome to our Gay-la," a boy not much older than they were said as he approached them upon entry, handing them both pamphlets with information about the group. "I know, a fairly problematic name," he added behind his breath, as though he was afraid to be caught speaking ill of the higher ups "We're pretty casual tonight, mostly just some mixing and mingling, but we have a few information centers if you'd like," he explained pointing to a few tables in the corner. "Here are your name tags, please indicate your preferred pronouns along with your name," he finished, handing over their name tags and a few markers before making his departure to greet another newly arrived guest.

She looked down at the name tag in her hand, which read "Hi, my name is… " followed by a large blank spot, under which it had three different pronoun options that she assumed she was meant to choose from. She was a little confused by the inclusion of "they" as an option, but decided it wasn't immediately relevant. She watched Rachel quickly write her name and circle "she," and then she watched Rachel try really hard to pretend not to be watching Lucas fill out hers.

She wasn't sure why, though. Rachel knew Lucas was private – something just for them. Why would she think this would be any different? With a shrug, she wrote down "Quinn," and circled "she" and stuck it to her shirt, completely ignoring Rachel's poorly masked disappointment, which Lucas wasn't entirely sure was justified.

Not feeling particularly social, Lucas made her way to the few tables of information set up in the corner, and while she felt she was probably at a fairly low risk for contracting HIV, she pretended to be really interested in the free rapid testing available on the first Thursday of every month while eyeing the table next to it with what looked like a giant cog on it.

It was a gear, actually, she discovered as she finally and casually approached, reading Gender Education, Advocacy, and Resources, and just as she had perused the pamphlet on protecting one's self from HIV, she thumbed through the pamphlet on gender non-conformity.

"Hi, Quinn… is it?" a blonde man said, approaching her and leaning over to catch sight of her name tag. "I'm Eric," he introduced himself, holding out his hand, which she shook politely. He seemed friendly enough, which was weird, since he had two rings in his lips and holes in his ears big enough to see through, and she thought she caught traces of eyeliner – not in a gothic way, but in strangely made-up way that she couldn't define, and his appearance was both intriguing and a little unsettling.

"Sorry," she said, shifting her weight and inconspicuously sliding the pamphlet she was holding into her back pocket. "You look a little older than everybody else," she observed, a little confused as to why an adult man was at an event aimed at teenagers.

"My apologies," he said with a smile and adjusted his glasses. "I'm one of the coordinators," he explained. "I'm actually on the GEARs board," he added, pointing to the table they were standing in front of. "Do you have any questions?" he asked openly and brightly.

"No," she said gruffly then thought better of it. "Well, yes," she admitted, and ignored his knowing smile. "None that I'm ready to voice, yet."

"That's okay," he said, somehow even more cheerful than he had been before, and it really was a little disconcerting in comparison to his presentation, but she thought that might have been the point. "The great thing about GEARs is that it's here when and if," he said, emphasizing the 'if' "you need it." She watched him reach into the pocket on the chest of his shirt and fish out a business card, extending it to her, which she, of course, accepted politely. "If you'd ever like some more information, feel free to give me a call," he said, and made his departure.

She looked down at the piece of card stock in her hand. Dr. Eric Stonem – trans education and advocacy. She wondered briefly what exactly he was a doctor of, but it was only a passing through before the card and the pamphlet were slipped into her back pocket and she joined Rachel at the refreshments table.

* * *

><p>"You had no right," Lucas said through gritted teeth as she drove them home, her knuckles practically white from how hard she was gripping the steering wheel.<p>

"I know," Rachel said, her voice passive and her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"You don't get to ambush me."

"I know."

Lucas huffed, wanting nothing more than to yell and scream and rage, but Rachel was taking all the fun out of it. "You know, it's not nearly as satisfying when you agree with me," she said, her voice void of its earlier venom.

Rachel chuckled softly. "I know that, too."

"Okay," Lucas said after a few minutes of tense silence. "So maybe I'm not the easiest person to talk to," she admitted. "But that still doesn't make it okay for you to plot behind my back and drop these kinds of things on me without a heads up."

"I really am sorry, Quinn," Rachel said.

"Lucas," the blonde corrected.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked quietly.

No, of course not. "I like it when you call me that," she said honestly.

"Okay," Rachel said. "I am sorry, though, Lucas. I mean it. I just don't know how to talk to you about this."

Lucas sighed heavily and relaxed her grip on the steering wheel, forcing herself to calm down. "I know," she admitted, nodding after a few seconds. "And that's why I think I'm going to talk to someone. Maybe call that therapist you were looking at."

"Really?" Rachel asked, and Lucas could tell that she was trying to mask a certain level of hopefulness.

"I'm not happy about it," Lucas asserted, glancing quickly at the brunette. "But I get the feeling that this is going to be recurring problem until something changes, and I'm not willing to risk losing you."

"You wouldn't lose me," Rachel started to argue, but Lucas just shook her head.

"Maybe not any time soon, but I would eventually," she asserted. "Eventually, you'd get tired of dealing with whatever this is, and you'd give up."

"You've got it wrong, Lucas," Rachel said softly. "I wouldn't give up because of whatever it is you're going through. I'd only give up if you did – if you just didn't deal with it."

The blonde inhaled deeply and nodded. "So I'll deal with it," she said, offering her best smile, but she knew it was weak. She finally just settled for reaching across the center console to take Rachel's hand in hers.


End file.
